Seth nodded.
Suki watched him for a nearly a minute, his eyes going out of focus and putting all of the bits and pieces he’d been collecting over the last couple days into some order. “Whatcha want here?”
“The two that ended my life,” Seth said. He gestured to the sketch.
Suki smiled. "The balls on you man, Jesus
Christ
.”
Seth didn’t move. Didn’t blink. This was the moment that would decide a great deal.
“So let’s get this all out. Your peeps get fucked up bad, and you come here lookin’ for me. Which means that you’re thinkin’ that a coupla my boys did the fuckin’. And you got the balls to come here? For what? Gonna try to waste me?” He leaned back in his chair. "How’s come you be thinkin’ that these is my boys?” He flipped the sketch out over the table like he was folding his hand.
“They left a calling card,” Seth said. Possibilities boiled in his mind.
“Yeah? What?”
"They spray painted this in my house, on my wife… my daughter."
“What the fuck?” Suki said. Then it dawned on him, “Motherfuckers.” He slapped the desk so hard that his two stone sentries jumped. “I
knew
it was somethin’.”
Seth leaned forward, acid boiled at the back of his throat. This guy really didn't know.
Suki shook his head, still clearing the fury. It was an honest, unrehearsed reaction and Seth saw within it an opportunity. He had followed a Trojan horse, assuming that anyone who would kill like that would want other killers to know just how bad they really were. It had dawned on him that it could be simply to force the police into working the wrong bunch, but he really hadn't expected that level of competence. The graffiti was a ruse. Just like a line of code that he might have put in place to make a hacker believe that he was on the right track, a track that lead in the opposite direction–the spray paint had led him to Suki.
“Nah, they ain’t mine. This is ‘bout money,” the calm Asian façade was giving way to the street reality that Suki had used to get to this point in life. “They’s fuckin’ wid you, but you don’t matter. They bust on your family, tag it like my Crew did it all, and all the sudden I got mad heat on my boys. Feel me?”
Seth nodded. It only followed that if all of Suki’s guys were getting harassed, they wouldn’t be able to sell their product. And if not, someone else would get that cut. He felt a desperation well up inside of him and fought it back. There was another possibility… another way.
Suki stood. He stroked one of the ferns, calming himself, and then tore off part of one frond and sat back down. He proceeded to shred it into tiny bits on his desk, scattering them over the images without looking down.
“You got some balls comin’ up in here thinkin’ I’d sell some boys out,” he finally said. “What was you gonna’ offer me? Gonna try to buy ‘em off me? Shit.” Suki was letting the frustration boil off and it left only anger. Seth could see it clouding his eyes like the curling smoke from the incense.
“Something better,” Seth said.
It stopped Suki short. He studied Seth. “What could you have that I’d want?”
“They'll disappear, and the heat will come off. Two days, and you're clear of all this,” Seth said. He said it without an ounce of outward emotion, but inside he was watching his last spin of the wheel and wondering if it would fall red or black.
Suki’s eyes lit up, and then he laughed again. “Mistoffelees.”
“Exactly.”
“How you gonna conjure that?”
“Do you know who it was?” Seth tapped the sketch that lay beneath the shredded fern.
“Might,” Suki said. He adjusted his topknot and went on, “Widmore. Their crew does shit like this. They got a hitter, a white boy like you. He’s a bad dude, been ‘round for a while, but just lucky is all. Dumb and mean, just a dog that bites hard." Suki paused, then asked, "You saw who did it didn't ya?"
Meek nodded once.
"White boy and somebody else? Younger probably, right?"
"Yeah. A white kid, probably about seventeen. His eyes kind of each went their own way, outward a little. And a black kid, pretty young… maybe twelve, thirteen. Scared looking. Tried to shoot me."
"Gettin’ courted in. That’s what ya send the dogs out for man, to show the pups how to cut teeth.”
“Can you find them?”
“Oh fuck yeah. The dude with the fucked up eyes, the crazy eyes... his name's Bolo. Be On the Look Out. Cop shit. He's been frontin' around between crews for a long time. He's a bad motherfucker, surprised you're still around Mr. Seth Meek. But I understand now. If it was him, he did some bad shit. I can see why you might want some payback. Dunno about the lil' dude, but it doesn't matter. I'll find out and I'll fade 'em.”
“Don’t.”
“Say what?”
“Let me,” Seth said.
Suki smiled, but it was grim. “Payback feels good man, but this is a hard dude and you ain’t, no offense, you ain’t….”
“Ask Jonquez if I’m for real.”
A pause, “Aight, say I turn you loose, whatcha gonna do?” Suki asked.
“Just what I said, they’ll disappear.”
“You talk like a white boy.”
“I am.”
He snorted then turned to the door at the far end of the room, “Quez!”
The kid’s face appeared just as soon as the cat woman opened the door. He slid inside and trotted over as Suki beckoned him.
Suki’s voice dropped low, like a parent extracting the truth from his child. "This dude a cop?” He cast a glance at Seth.
Jonquez shook his head no. Vigorously. “No way.”
This pleased the big man, and again he brought out his big laugh. "What makes you so sure?”
The boy proceeded to explain their encounter with the Widmore Crew. The tale brought the joy back to Suki’s eyes. “So you just want me to finger these motherfuckers, that’s it? Show you their hood and cut you loose?”
“That’s right.”
“And in exchange for this… service you’re gonna conjure up some way to get the heat off my boys.…” Suki could see the benefits, and they were nearly without risk. That kind of business was the kind he couldn’t pass up. If this white boy rolled up and capped two Widmore bangers that’d be good enough. Assuming he could do it, and probably, Suki thought, it wouldn’t be as easy as he hoped. This boy was all romantic; he wanted them to know it was him, he wanted to be up in their face. Revenge was dangerous shit and he’d probably fuck it up. He’d just get killed for all of his balls.
Still, that could work in Suki’s favor, too. Somebody would eventually go looking for the guy, they'd find him, and then it’d be all over the news again that the rich kid had been out killing the people that’d fucked up his life. Pressure off. And Widmore would take a hellava hit.
And if he did manage it, if he killed ‘em and just dipped without holding up his end? Well Suki wouldn’t hesitate to drop a dime on this guy, and let the cops know exactly who was down in the hood doin’ all the shootin’.
“You just gonna roll up and unload a gauge on these motherfuckers?” Suki asked.
Seth shook his head, "Not exactly, but you can’t lose here can you?”
Suki returned the gesture. "Nope. But life gets damn dangerous when it ain't all 'bout business."
Seth ignored him. “Alright then, I just need to know where they are and in a month it's over.”
Jonquez was looking at Seth as if he were some mythical beast from the abyss. Suki noticed and chuckled. "You gotta piece?”
Seth pinched his lower lip between his fingers, a habit from a former life that brought enough pain to make him wince now. "Don’t need one.”
“You gonna use harsh language boy?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Be straight man, you’s a little crazy ain’tcha?” Suki asked.
Seth glanced at Jonquez, studied the awe in his face and said, "Probably.”
Chapter Twenty–Seven
Itch
Saul was in a tight spot.
Bolo was useless. A day ago, having the guy keep his mouth shut would have been exactly what Saul would have wanted, but now Bolo was gutted. Forced to follow Saul about like a puppy dog had sucked the cool right out of him, and now that he wasn’t even strapped, he was about as good to Saul as an extra shadow. Plus, he wasn’t a dealer. He didn’t know how to work a car full of hopped up white guys from the suburbs looking to score something a little harder than weed after winning the big game. Bolo scared people.
Saul told him to sit back out of the wind, but not too far. He too, stood out of the way, visible only to his regulars if they knew where to look. Still, he wasn’t about to let the weather drive him in; business was up already from what he’d been hearing.
He filed away the lesson learned–it was all business. He dreamed as he leaned against the doorframe of a day when he’d run things. Things he’d do differently. Like so many kids, Saul didn’t think of an alternate life, just the one at hand. It was all about this moment and how the next might be different.
He’d hated his first jump–in, but probably, he wouldn't have changed it much. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that getting the living shit beat out of you would be a low point in the day, but at the same time, it was… reassuring. They’d tried hard not just to hurt him, but humiliate him by using six girls. He was slight, his health had always been a problem, but he’d survived because of his mother. The girls had surrounded him and he’d been afraid. A couple dozen of the guys he’d grown up with, guys from the Crew, stood around laughing, grinding the insult home as they sensed his terror.
The first one he’d been too slow to fend off, unsure of her intentions. She didn’t scream and flail at him as she approached, rather she smiled and said something soothing that his thrumming heart had erased. Then she’d smashed his balls into his pelvis. After that it was a blur of shouting, laughing, and the most intense pain he could remember. It had only lasted about half a minute he found out later, but time had stood on its ear as they’d kicked at his body; each jab and stomp folded in upon the last, weaving together a blanket of pain that threatened to suffocate him before he could regain his ability to think.
But when it was over, his Crew was there. They picked him up, got him some hot food, a fifth of something, and a place to sleep it off.
His
Crew. Before the initiation, he’d belonged to them because he was a part of the hood, just like anyone else. Now he belonged
with
them. It was a feeling of security that fell short of love, it was just business after all, but it
was
real. More than that, it was an
advantage
, and it felt like the first one that he’d ever had in life. It was something that outsiders would never understand.
He would have been a fool to pass it up.
So now he stood his corner in the sleet just as he’d been told, took care of his other corners so that he’d be noticed, and dreamed the same dream that thousands of other kids were dreaming at the very same time: how to get to the top. Life was just business.
Chapter Twenty–Eight
Imbue
“Sweet baby Jesus don’t move Finny,” Tonic said. "Lemme get the camera.”
Finn looked up at his partner and then back down at the kid he was straddling. He made a note that there was but one layer of expensive pants between the two of them, and quickly stood. “Roll over Andy,” he said.
This brought a peal of laughter from Tonic. Finn slipped a flex–cuff around the kid’s wrists and cinched it down tight. He lifted him to his feet and they made their way back to the car. Ray was doing the math and getting a very uneasy feeling about their seating assignments when Tonic said, “You ride up front with me Ray.”
“Don’t get any ass matter on my seat Andy,” Finn said. "And watch your head.”
No answer, the kid slid into the car and immediately looked at the floor. Trembling.
“Let’s get out where there’s some traffic Spence,” Finn said when he got no reply. The car was already running and they lurched forward. Finn pulled off his helmet but the straps left angry red lines on his cheeks. "Tell me you weren’t going down in that hole with no pants.”
The kid kept his head down. Clumped, uneven dreadlocks hung around his face. His long pale legs bore crisscrossed pink streaks, the upper thighs dotted with bruises. Likewise his arms were freckled with punctures and a half dozen blurry tattoos. Tonic cracked his window open, but there were no jokes about the smell. The creeping death from the old church clung to the kid; a parasite to its incubator.
Two blocks after the car turned onto Widmore, an eye peeked up. It was red, and a little swollen from the collision with Ray. The pupils were wide but still. Almost serene. The kid cautiously looked outside, and then sat up as much as his cuffed hands would allow.
“You gonna be alright back there Andy?” Tonic asked from the front.
“Yeah,” he croaked. Then, “I’m good.” He cleared his throat, but without much improvement.
“When’d you last use?” Tonic went on.
“Yesterday.”
“Sure?”
“Yep.”
“What was it?”
“Just turbo,” the kid said. His lips looked like tree bark, cracked so deeply that in some spots they bled. The face was dirty, a ring around his lips was scrubbed clean.
“Where’s it at?” Tonic said.
“In my pants dude,” he said staring at Ray's reflection. "The rocks at least, I stepped on the tweeds and pawned it off.”
“I have no idea what you just said Andy,” Finn said as he tossed a blanket over the kid’s lap.
“You’ve been outta the game too long man.”
“You’ve been
in
too long,” Finn answered. "Hungry?”
Andy nodded and then looked back at Ray, “Who’s this guy?”
“Our intern,” Tonic said.
Andy stared at Ray and explored the back of his mouth with his tongue. “Wanna buy some head Ray?” the kid asked.
“Be nice,” Finn said before Ray could close his mouth. "And I’ll take the cuffs off you.”
Andy smirked when the intern realized why his lips were clean.
Ray felt ill, grappled with the nausea, and turned away.
They drove for a few minutes without words and then pulled across the road into a Burger King. Tonic ordered three meals in separate bags and then handed them all back to Finn.
“You good to eat?” Finn asked.
A nod. Distant eyes.
Tonic angled back out unto the nearly empty roads, keeping clear of the areas with which Andy was familiar. The farther they got from Widmore, the more relaxed he became. The cuffs came off. “Cheap bastards that we are, we got you greasy burgers, hope you don’t mind,” Finn said as he started handing food across to the kid.
“Better than come.”
“He makes a good point,” Tonic said.
Andy didn’t attack the food as Ray had expected. Instead, he unwrapped a sandwich, spread the wrapper out on the blanket, and created a very neat dining area just like a businessman on a first class flight. He nibbled at a French fry, wiped his mouth, and then had another.
“Coffee,” Finn handed it over. "This is just shitty American Gym Sock blend, but we’ll hit a Starbucks if you have anything useful.” Andy accepted it and almost smiled. He took a long whiff and then just sat there with the cup under his nose.
“Okay, aromatherapy is over. What’s new?”
“It’s been like two years dude,” Andy said, he hadn’t moved or opened his eyes.
Finn took a fry of his own, "Well I think you know that we’re not down here to talk about your taxes.”
“SMG killed some folks out in Arlington Heights,” Tonic offered.
“How do you know it was them?” Andy asked. In the grand scheme of the streets, he was a floater, an untouchable, and thus he was mostly ignored when he was in the light. It made him as useful as an invisible man.
“Tags,” Tonic replied.
This earned him a smirk, "Tags don’t mean shit and you know it, not on the outs.”
“How’s Widmore’s business over the last few days?” Finn asked.
“I partied with four guys I haven’t seen in a long time, so they’re making some fresh scratch. Didn’t you figure?”
Finn nodded, "Yeah, but we’d sure like to get a line on the guys that did it.”
“Dunno. Sorry dude, seriously. I heard what they did. But I dunno who they are, or where. I kinda wondered if you guys wouldn’t come sniffin’ around though. I’m actually glad to see you. Wheels within wheels huh?”
“For sure,” Tonic said. “What’s your best guess?”
“Widmore. Doncha think? They got a pretty swift guy on top. Vesper’s his name, but they’re also kinda backed into a corner right now with SMG movin’ on their main drag. Cut off Widmore street, and all their lifeblood goes to SMG. No more kids comin’ in from the burbs to score, all the sudden they’d just be sellin’ to locals and that’s not such a good deal. They’d die back in their corner so they figured out a way to fuck SMG over, put a bunch of heat on ‘em, and in the mean time, take back a few blocks of the main vein.” He managed to get through one burger, and Finn handed him a second.
“Sounds like you’ve thought it through.”
“I got the time.”
“Anything else?” Finn asked.
“Sure, lots.”
“Starbucks awaits.”
“Good, this shit is awful,” Andy held up the Styrofoam cup to the window as if he could peer through it. “Building fell in on Bertha, remember her? Hung out with Spencer when he was workin’ down here. “‘Member? Well,” the kid wiped his mouth, "she got pregnant, and was living up on the third floor of the OS, the Old Shelter, you know. The whole thing just rotted out and dropped her into the basement. She’s still there I guess.” The fact that they were all probably
smelling
Bertha right now was troubling, but no one mentioned the connection.
Tonic found the Starbucks and pulled through.
“Double Ristretto venti nonfat organic chocolate brownie Frappuccino. Extra hot with foam and whipped cream. Upside down and double blended,” Andy said with the practiced ease of someone who had been dreaming of the words for some time.
“Jesus Christ,” Finn smiled.
Tonic refused to repeat the order and instead rolled down the back window and pulled forward so that Andy could repeat himself. He did so, adding, “With cinnamon please.”
Andy watched the drive–thru window like a dog at the dinner table until the drink arrived. Again, they got back on the road and let him enjoy the smell in silence for several minutes before anyone spoke.
“Thanks,” he said finally.
“You’re welcome, I hope you’re good for it.”
“Well I don’t wanna to disappoint you,” Andy said. "But there’s not much else goin’ on. A couple of Widmore guys got run over today, nothin’ too big ‘bout that.” He sipped the coffee.
“Payback?”
“Yeah, maybe. Things are way tense. SMG knows they didn’t do shit, but they’re getting the shakedowns. Business is way down. Widmore’s is up. Vesper’s a smart dude.
“Who killed ‘em?”
“Nah, they aren't dead, least I don't think so. Who knows? Sounds like some big guns are posting up though.”
“Why’s that?” Tonic asked. The snow was heavier now, the last hour of afternoon sun gone. It was time to get Andy somewhere for the evening. Bertha’s scent had overpowered even the high–octane coffee with all of its cinnamon goodness.
“Ollie, the dude you tried to squib at the hole, he lives up in Widmore’s hood. He said someone told him it was a big ol’ mob whip. Soprano style dude, seriously.”
Tonic stopped the car mid–street, “What kinda ride was it?”
“Dunno, big black fucker Ollie said. Dark windows. The whole deal. Fucked those guys up good.”
“Where?” Finn asked and then snatched the coffee out of Andy’s hand.
“Where
?”
“Easy man, easy. ‘Bout a block inside Widmore, to the south. Why?” he looked between the two detectives. His eyes narrowed. “What?”
Tonic spun the car around, fishtailing up against a curb on the newly slick streets, and said, “We’re dropping you at the mission, you good with that?”
“Sure man, but they won’t have any room left,” he gestured for Finn to give his coffee back. “Cold like this, not gonna be a spot for me.”
“They’ll make room. Now, tell us about the car again.”
Andy told them again, neither adding nor subtracting. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Where’d the car go?” Tonic asked. He was blowing stop signs, rapidly chewing up the distance they’d put between Andy and his neighborhood. Ray looked mortified, his knuckles literally white as he clutched the dash.
Andy, on the other hand, sat unbelted, sipping his Venti double whatever as if the aircraft were experiencing minor turbulence. “Ollie said it mashed ‘em and then just took off up the street.”
Finn was already on the telephone with Hop trying to find out if there’d been any report of the incident – probably not, but it was possible. Someone had to scrape them off of the street eventually if it was for real.
They pulled up in front of the Mission. Morrell Street Mission was cut from the cloth of city shelters all over the country: It was over–crowded and under–staffed. The building stood alone in a dirt lot about fifteen blocks from Andy’s neighborhood. It had been an old YMCA, and Andy had spent his fair share of time there when he was in rehab. Those days seemed very long ago indeed.
Finn handed him two more bags of food, half a carton of cigarettes, and a couple of bills that Ray couldn’t quite see. The kid asked politely if he could keep the blanket, and didn’t seem overly worried about walking up to the door of the mission wearing it. Finn went with him. The two walked up the long sidewalk through the wind and snow, and disappeared inside.
Tonic was the first to speak, "You alright Ray?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t bullshit a bull shitter.”