“Shit, man, I feel naked without some kind of ordnance. It’s not right.”
“Shut your mouth, BJ, and look for a spot for this ride of mine,” Twin said. “This is going to be a meeting of the brothers. There’s no need for any firepower.”
“What if they bring some?” BJ asked.
“Hey, man, don’t you trust nobody?” Twin asked. At that moment he saw a delivery van pulling away from the curb. “What do you know, we’re in luck.”
Twin expertly guided his car into the spot and pushed on the emergency brake.
“It says for commercial vehicles only,” BJ said. He had his face pressed up against the window to see the parking sign.
“With all the crack we’ve moved this year I think we qualify,” Twin said with a laugh. “Come on, get your black ass in gear.”
They got out of the car and crossed the street to enter the park. Twin checked his watch. They were a little early despite the trouble parking. That was how Twin liked it for this kind of meeting. He wanted a chance to scope the place out. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other brothers, it was just that he liked to be careful.
But Twin was in for a surprise. When his eyes swept the area for the agreed-upon meeting he found himself transfixed by the stare of one of the more physically imposing men he’d seen in some time.
“Uh-oh,” Twin said under his breath.
“What’s the matter?” BJ demanded, instantly alert.
“The brothers have gotten here before us,” Twin said.
“What do you want me to do?” BJ asked. His own eyes raced around the park until they, too, settled on the same man Twin had spotted.
“Nothing,” Twin said. “Just keep walking.”
“He looks so goddamn relaxed,” BJ said. “It makes me worried.”
“Shut up!” Twin commanded.
Twin walked right up to the man whose piercing eyes had never left his. Twin formed his right hand into the form of a gun, pointed at the man, and said: “Warren!”
“You got it,” Warren said. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad,” Twin said. He then ritualistically raised his right hand to head height. Warren did the same and they high-fived. It was a perfunctory gesture, akin to a couple of rival investment bankers shaking hands.
“This here’s David,” Warren said, motioning toward his companion.
“And this here’s BJ,” Twin said, mimicking Warren.
David and BJ eyed each other but didn’t move or speak.
“Listen, man,” Twin said. “Let me say one thing right off. We didn’t know the doc was living in your hood. I mean, maybe we should have known, but we didn’t think about it with him being white.”
“What kind of a relationship did you have with the doc?” Warren asked.
“Relationship?” Twin questioned. “We didn’t have no relationship.”
“How come you’ve been trying to ice him?” Warren asked.
“Just for some small change,” Twin said. “A white dude who lives down our way came to us and offered us some cash to warn the doc about something he was doing. Then, when the doc didn’t take our advice, the dude offered us more to take him out.”
“So you’re telling me the doc hasn’t been dealing with you people?” Warren asked.
“Shit no,” Twin said with a derisive laugh. “We don’t need no honky doctor for our operation, no way.”
“You should have come to us first,” Warren said. “We would have set you right about the doc. He’s been running with us on the b-ball court for four or five months. He’s not half bad neither. So I’m sorry about Reginald. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened if we’d talked.”
“I’m sorry about the kid,” Twin said. “That shouldn’t have happened neither. Trouble was, we were so pissed about Reginald. We couldn’t believe a brother would get shot over a honky doctor.”
“That makes us even,” Warren said. “That’s not counting what happened last night, but that didn’t involve us.”
“I know,” Twin said. “Can you imagine that doc? He’s like a cat with nine lives. How the hell did that cop react so fast? And why was he in there? He must think he’s Wyatt Earp or something.”
“The point is that we have a truce,” Warren said.
“Damn straight,” Twin said. “No more brother shooting brother. We’ve got enough trouble without that.”
“But a truce means you lay off the doc too,” Warren said.
“You care what happens to that dude?” Twin asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Warren said.
“Hey, then it’s your call, man,” Twin said. “It wasn’t like the money was that good anyway.”
Warren stuck out his hand palm up. Twin slapped it. Then Warren slapped Twin’s.
“Be good,” Warren said.
“You too, man,” Twin said.
Warren motioned to David that they were leaving. They walked back toward the Washington Arch at the base of Fifth Avenue.
“That wasn’t half bad,” David said.
Warren shrugged.
“You believe him?” David asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Warren said. “He might deal in drugs, but he’s not stupid. If this thing goes on, we all lose.”
32
Jack felt uncomfortable. Among other problems he was stiff and now all his muscles ached. He’d been sitting in the van for more hours than he cared to count, watching customers going in and out of the pawnshop. There’d never been a crowd, but it was steady. Most of the people looked seedy. It occurred to Jack that the shop was trafficking in illicit activities like gambling or drugs.
It was not a good neighborhood. Jack had sensed that the moment he’d arrived that morning. The point had been driven home as darkness fell and someone tried to break into the van with Jack sitting there. The man had approached the passenger-side door with a flat bar, which he proceeded to insert between the glass and the door frame. Jack had to knock on the glass and wave to get the man’s attention. The moment he saw Jack he ran off.
Jack was now popping throat lozenges at a regular rate with little relief. His throat was worse, and to add to his increasing misery he’d developed a cough. It wasn’t a bad cough, merely a dry hack. But it further irritated his throat and increased his anxiety that he had indeed caught the flu from Gloria Hernandez. Although two rimantadine tablets were recommended as the daily dose, Jack took a third when the coughing started.
Just about the time Jack was contemplating admitting to himself that his clever ploy with the package had been a failure, his patience paid off. The man involved did not attract Jack’s attention initially. He’d arrived on foot, which was not what Jack expected. He was dressed in an old nylon ski parka with a hood just like a few of the individuals who’d preceded him. But when he came out he was carrying the parcel. Despite the failing light and the distance, Jack could see the “rush” and “biohazard” labels plastered haphazardly over the exterior.
Jack had to make a rapid decision as the man walked briskly toward the Bowery. He hadn’t expected to be following a pedestrian, and he debated if he should get out of the van and follow on foot or stay in the van, circle around, and try to follow the man while driving.
Thinking that a slowly moving van would attract more attention than a pedestrian, Jack got out of the truck. He followed at a distance until the man turned right on Eldridge Street. Jack then ran until he reached the corner.
He peeked around just in time to see the man entering a building across the street, midway down the block.
Jack quickly walked to the building. It was five stories, like its immediate neighbors. Each floor had two large, storefront-sized windows with smaller, sashed windows on either side. A fire escape zigzagged down the left side of the facade to end in a counterweighted ladder pivoted some twelve feet from the sidewalk. The ground-floor commercial space was vacant with a For Rent sign stuck to the inside of the glass.