Authors: S. W. Frank
CHAPTER
THREE
Al
lie’
s
small fingers gripped
Alfonzo’s
neck
as he cradled her in his arms
as they left the doctor’s office
. In his pocket,
prescriptions for antibiotics
and over the counter cough syrup
.
His girls suffered from a viral infection,
the doctor said. A little rest, some TLC and they
were going to
be
fine
. He
frowned;
they looked disastrous, and
felt relieved it wasn’t anything more serious. The human psyche has a way of imagining the worse.
When they arrived home, he settled Allie in bed and rushed out to get their medicine.
The vicinity around the large pharmacy chain was
congested. In the summer, especially
during
midday
when the hang-over crowd came out
,
uptown came alive. The vibrant colors
of its people and disparate cultures brought an excitement to the air unlike anywhere else. Harlem was his old stomping ground
. He was intimately familiar with these streets, from the lower east side to the west side and points in between. He knew every closed door hustler, gang-banger, heel-wearing whore and
bodega owner in the vicinity. There wasn’t a hole or back-alley he didn’t know or precinct he hadn’t visited.
Of course he’d traveled throughout the other boroughs,
the Bronx,
Brooklyn,
Queens,
and Staten
Island
. There were many occasions he drove out to the suburbs of Nassau and Suffolk County
hustling his wares and making connections. –But it’s
Harlem, the cultural mecca of the world, he considered home. It’s where he got schooled
about
socioeconomic differences. H
e saw the juxtaposition of poverty
; witnessed the
upper middle-class
and low income residents
exist cohesive
ly. Yes, he tasted the salt and sugar of each,
but
it’s the struggle he remembered most. The hustle and grind; the
scuffle
to make things happen
and
get the fuck off the street
to
make something
out
of his life.
Well, he had.
He got a college education, o
wn
ed a profitable
business
and
inherited loads of cash by default
. The smartest decisions he ever made was marrying Selange and getting the hell out of the United States.
Looking around, the environment hadn’t changed, only the players. He could never
forg
e
t
those cold nights, selling shit on the streets,
scanning the block for DT’s
and watching his back for junkies or rival drug-dealers
looking
to rip him off.
He scoffed, thinking about it. Frankly, he wasn’t granted immunity from crime. Money isn’t
strong
enough to shield a man from a bullet
. P
aper
i
s too motherfucking
thin
!
Sometimes
being wealthy
felt like
a different world –but
it wasn’t. The
illusion
ary affect
is
reserved
for the naïve.
T
he rich fed off the poor and crime
offset
goodness. They were inexplicably linked, brought together
in a world where
money afforded a person certain advantages, however unless a person lives in a bubble, crime is a reality.
To have a
false sense of security
or belief crime
is an urban problem
, is a condition of the ignorant. A state-of-mind Alfonzo
opined
is
reserved for fools.
Harlem served as his reality check.
He found a parking spot two blocks away on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard
and
walked along
o
ne hundred and twenty-fifth
to
mingl
e
with
a
crowd of pedestrians
,
stopping along the way to give dabs to some familiar faces
before moving on
.
Several attractive girls
smiled
and he
politely
returned
the flirtatious
greeting
.
“
W
hat’s up
Fonzo
?
”
He checked over his shoulder.
Quickly coming up to his side in a jog was a dude he hadn’t seen in years. He’d gained some weight but the face was unmistakable. “
S
hit. What’s up
Danté
?
”
“Man, it’s all good…all good!”
They exchanged a brotherly hug and
D
anté
pat Alfonzo’s
shoulder.
“Man I haven’t seen your ass in a while.”
Alfonzo stepp
ed
back to get a good look at his childhood friend
and smirked
. The two were
like Siamese twins in Junior High School.
They lost contact
when Alfonzo was sent to PR after getting in trouble and t
he
last he heard
D
anté
was living in
Florida. “
How
the fuck you been?”
“
Blessed man.
I’ve been down in
Jacksonville, doing my thing.
Working, doing me.
I’m back though,
promoting my cousin Kiki in her singing career. Anyway, forget that, what the fuck is going on with you…I heard crazy shit. You some top mafia guy and shit, what?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
They were standing near the sliding door of the pharmacy, it opened and a female he recognized emerged. She noticed him there and came strutting over. “What’s up Alfonzo?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, “Hey.”
Danté
smirked.
“Looking good
papí
.”
He
could
n’t return the compliment. Neglect and drug abuse
took an obvious toll on the once pretty Latina. Her dress was tramp tight, legs blotted and thin.
Her eyes danced; an ecstatic gleam indicative of someone under the influence.
His jaw
clenched at how different she appeared
. He was saddened,
“How’s things going Antonia?”
“I’m doing good, got myself a real man,
his name’s
Miguel. You might know him
and his brother Juan.”
Alfonzo showed no outward emotion in response to her acerbic remark. Juan was Carlos’ cousin. The same dude Domingo took-out.
“
Yo
no
sé
.”
“Anyway, I
gotta
go,” she said and sashayed away.
Danté
smiled, “She’s flying high.”
“I know.”
Alfonzo
said then
pointed to the pharmacy, “Look we
got
to catch up but right now I have to run
.
”
“No, that’s cool.
I’ll be
down
at
the Silver Lounge tonight.
If you want to hear Kiki sing, s
top by, alright?
”
“
For sure
, man.”
They pumped fists then went their separate ways.
Alfonzo
grinned. Damn, seeing
Danté
brought back fond
memories
.
Yeah, he planned to touch base with
him tonight and catch-up,
but right now he had an emergency on his hands.
He emerged from the pharmacy
with
the white prescription bag
and
hurried home.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Emilio
Nieves
dro
ve the expanse of the highway bopping his head to
raggaeton
music. He was on his way to
Bayamón
Universidad. The
chica’s
there were fine. He didn’t mind this assignment at
all,
it
meant
he got
a chance
to see Jessica again
.
Besides, it was great to get a break and relax a bit. Every time he walked around the grounds
of the Diaz estate,
he
thought about
what happened in San Juan. Someone let their guard down and paid for it
with their life
.