Street Pharm (9 page)

“That too.”

I snagged an orange tray, saying to the homies behind us, “It’s okay, right?” They were smart enough not to say nothing, so I got in line behind her.

We paid with our lunch vouchers and sat down. Alyse took a few bites, then said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. My aunt used to get terrible headaches too. She’d shut herself up in her room and put the blinds down, sometimes for days at a time. Was yours like that?”

“Maybe not
that
bad. I just stayed in bed or on the couch, listened to some music, and relaxed.”

“You can listen to music when you have a headache? What do you listen to?”

“A lot of different shit. K-Ron, Kanye West, Rick Ross. Some old ’Pac. It don’t bother my head if it ain’t too loud.”

“Have you heard that new K-Ron track, ‘Livin’ Large’? It’s awesome. But most of his stuff’s just disgusting. Like the name of his album.”

“Which one?”

“You know.”

“Oh, you mean
Eatin’ Out
?”

She nodded, too embarrassed to look at me.

“Tell me what you think of K-Ron,” I said. “You think he’s good-looking?”

“Yeah, he’s cute. Do you think he’s cute?”

“Me? I don’t think any guy’s cute. But that nigga’s short, that’s for sure. Five five if he’s lucky. They make him look mad tall on TV.”

“C’mon, he can’t be that short.”

“Five six, tops. I’m way taller than him.”

“Have you seen him in person?”

“Seen him? He my homeboy.”

“Yeah, right!”

“It’s true.”

She smacked my arm. “You’re dreaming!”

“Think, Alyse. He’s from Flatbush, don’t you know? We been tight for years. Whenever he’s in town, he calls me and we go out.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I usually meet him and his crew at a club.”

“Like what club?”

“These days, that new one, the Wall.”

“So you got fake I.D.?”

“Yeah. But I don’t need it.”

“Sure. What happens at the club? He got girls falling all over him?”

“Hell, yeah. But he stays in the VIP section most of the time, so the honeys in his entourage are the only ones who can get close to him.”

“I read in the
Post
that he’s boozing and doing drugs every night. That true?”

“Uh-huh.” Man, did I know it.

“I read he went to rehab last year.”

“Stayed a week. Got bored.”

“You tell a good story, Ty Johnson.”

“I got the pictures to prove it. You’ll see.”

*  *  *

Being back at school wasn’t so wack after all. Sitting in class, chilling with homies, playing some ball in the gym—it was all a break from the drama of the last couple of days.

After school, me and Alyse took the bus to the subway station.

Sonny was sitting in his Caddy waiting for me, music pumping.

He got out and gave Alyse a once-over. “Who this?”

Alyse stiffened. “Who
you
?”

Sonny burst out laughing.

“Sonny, Alyse. Alyse, Sonny.”

“Ty’s my partner in crime.” Sonny nudged me. “Ain’t that right?”

“Word.” I said to Alyse, “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” She looked a bit confused at my fast good-bye, but I’d say sorry later. I wished I could offer her a ride, but every second Sonny was around her was like a ticking time bomb.

Sonny and me got in the car.

“Be more fucking careful next time,” I said.

“Huh? What I do?”

“The way you looked at her, for a start.”

“She cute, that’s all.”

“Not every chick likes to be looked at that way.”

Sonny raised his eyebrows. “I get it. You haven’t balled her yet. You wanna make a good impression.”

“Something like that. And she don’t know I’m a hustler, so you got no business running your mouth like that. ‘Partner in crime,’ my ass!”

“Wait wait wait, hold up. She don’t know what you do? C’mon, man, it’ll help you ball her!”

“Not this girl. Enough of this, Sonny. Why you waiting for me?”

“I wanted to tell you we got a meeting tonight with Jones and Menendez.”

“Good. You could’ve just called.”

“Yeah, but I thought we should talk about your visit with Orlando before we see them. You told him about Darkman?”

“He already knew. Drive, I’ll tell you everything.”

But I didn’t tell him everything.

T
he government lets people buy junk food that’s gonna rot their teeth and make them fat. The government lets people buy booze and cigarettes—both can kill you. But when it comes to drugs, the government don’t trust the public to choose for themselves.

That forced hustlers like me and Sonny to go underground. Even though we had the dough to rent an office, Sonny and me had to meet suppliers and customers in secret places.

That night we were meeting Jones and Menendez. We’d used this place—an empty warehouse under the Manhattan Bridge—a few times before. When we pulled around the back of the warehouse,
Sonny’s high-beams lit up Menendez’s dark blue Jag. Jones and Menendez had a thing about getting there first.

As we got out into the dark parking lot, Sonny said, “Hope they ain’t freaked by the short notice.” He switched on his flashlight.

Sonny had the jitter in his voice that he always had at night meetings. As for me, I liked the dark. It could be dangerous, but it could also be protection.

We went in through a side door and saw Jones and Menendez. From the looks of the place, it was being renovated. Scaffolding was up, and paint cans and two-by-fours were piled everywhere. This would have to be the last time we met here.

We went up to them and knocked knuckles. Menendez was a fat Dominican with an acne-scarred face and a thin mouth that didn’t smile much. Jones wore a wife-beater under his leather jacket to show off his tattoos. Jones and Menendez grew up in the same project in Queens, and after a few years of competition hooked up as partners. Now, twenty years later, they was kingpins, living in Long Island mansions.

“Thanks for going outta your way,” I said. “We got us some trouble. Figured you should get the heads-up.”

They looked at each other, and Menendez said, “Go on.”

“Some guy, calls himself Darkman, is trying to take over our business,” Sonny explained.

I added quick, “We got no holes in our team. Our employees and customers are loyal, so that ain’t a problem. But Darkman will try to find out who’s supplying us.”

“Will your employees tell him?” Jones asked.

Trick question. “
None
of our employees know who you are. Darkman won’t find out shit from them. But Darkman was in the business down in Miami, and I know you said your Colombian friends land their planes near there.”

“The Colombians is always talking to each other.” Menendez gritted his teeth. “So if this muthafucka Darkman find out who we are, what he gonna do?”

Sonny answered, “Probably nothing. But there’s a chance he might wanna cut a deal with you—bribe you into cutting off our supply.”

“Tough shit for him,” Jones said. “We don’t play games. We’ll tell him we ain’t changing buyers.”

“Good,” I said. “If he contacts you, let me know.”

Menendez’s laugh was like a dog’s bark. “We got ways of dealing with troublemakers. You just make sure you hang on to your customers.”

“Our customers ain’t going nowhere,” Sonny promised.

Jones looked at me. “Why aren’t you just having him knocked off?”

I didn’t miss a beat. “We might have to, but I was upstate with my dad yesterday, and he was telling me about Darkman’s family. They big and they got money. We don’t need them wanting revenge. Plus, Dad’s worried that if we knock him off, the cops’ll start asking questions on the street.”

Jones and Menendez nodded. These guys loved my dad. To them, his words were gospel.

We talked about the next shipment, then finished the meeting. Just as they wanted to be the first to get there, they liked to be the first to leave. We all slapped hands, and they headed out.

Jones stopped in the doorway of the warehouse. “Thanks for keeping us informed, fellas. You watch your backs, y’hear?”

I nodded. “We will.”

W
hat was up with that guy yesterday?” Alyse asked me the next morning before Global History class. “He was shady.”

“You in the habit of judging people you don’t know?”

“It isn’t like that. He just wasn’t the type of guy I expected you to hang around with. You gotta admit, he’s got the pimp thing going.”

I laughed. “Sonny tries. He ain’t no pimp. His girlfriend would have his balls in a sling.”

“Good for her. By the way, guess who’s in town?” She did a drumroll on the desk.

“The circus?”

“No, K-Ron! He’s doing two shows and making a video.”

“I know. Hey, I brought the pictures.”

“You playing?”

“What, you didn’t believe me?” I took an envelope from my book bag and gave it to her.

Alyse took the pictures from the envelope and flipped through them, her eyes wide. She saw pictures of K-Ron and me at clubs, restaurants, and backstage at a couple of concerts. She was grinning like a fool. She looked through them twice before giving them back.

“Those pictures are amazing! I can’t believe you’re friends with K-Ron! Are you going to one of his shows while he’s in town?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. I seen his shows so many times.”

“Well, are you gonna meet up with him?”

“Sure, we’ll chill.”

“Wow. That’s
whassup
!”

“I know what you thinking,” I said. “You ain’t getting within ten feet of K-Ron. Sure, he my homeboy, but he messed up. He’d be tryna wrap his sweaty body around you.” I shook my head. “You too cute to put in the same room with K-Ron.”

She laughed. “You’re sweet.”

“No,
you
sweet. That’s why you ain’t getting near K-Ron.”

“The thing is, though . . . oh, forget it. It’s not important.”

“What is it?”

“Well . . . ” She made a face. “I was just thinking, if I get him to autograph a few shirts, maybe I could make a little money. You know, sell them on eBay. You get something autographed, the price goes way up.”

I pretended to look hurt. “You using me and K-Ron to get paid?”

“No! I didn’t mean it that way!”

“Talk to the hand. I’m hurt. I’m hurting deep inside.” I turned away from her. Then we both burst out laughing.

Mr. Guzman came into the classroom. “Looks like some of us are awake this morning!”

We said hi, and I turned back to Alyse. “Next time I see K-Ron, I’ll get him to autograph some shirts for you.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“ ’Course not. It’ll be cool to see how much you can sell ’em for.”

“We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty.”

“No, thank you. Make me dinner sometime and we’ll call it even.”

She grinned. “Got yourself a deal.”

*  *  *

At lunchtime I speed-dialed K-Ron from the boys’ bathroom. It was 12:45, around the time he usually woke up.

“K-Ron, what up?”

His voice was all scratchy. “I woke up with two bitches in my bed. But
damn
I got a muthafucka of a hangover.”

“Big night last night?”

“Every night, homey. Every night.”

“You must’ve run outta stuff by now, huh? How about I drop by tonight?”

“Huh? Sorry, these hos is distracting me. I’ll pass on the shit for now. My manager’s threatening to throw my black ass back into rehab if I show up at the studio high again. Says Jason Jay won’t work with me no more if I don’t clean up.”

“That’s heavy, man.”

“Damn straight. Anyway, I’m gonna stick to booze and smokes for the next little while. When I go back on the road I can wild out.”

“A’ight. Gimme a call before you leave and I’ll hook you up.”

“You got it.”

“And K-Ron, do me a favor? Send me a few autographed shirts for my girls?”

“I’ll tell my assistant.”

“Good stuff. Peace out, playa.”

“Peace.”

T
hat afternoon I got a phone message from Monfrey.

“Ty, I got a report. Meet me at Thai Take-Out at five.”

Thai Take-Out was on Bedford Avenue, in Williamsburg. I found Monfrey at the counter, ordering food. Even though his back was to me, he didn’t jump when I put a hand on his shoulder.

“What up, Ty?”

“Hey, Monfrey. What you order?”

“Number six.”

“I’ll take the same,” I told the Asian guy behind the counter. I paid for both, and Monfrey said thanks.

We got our food, then sat down at one of the four small tables.
The only other people in the place were two white ladies, one with a baby in a stroller beside her.

Monfrey sat across from me, his hygiene no worse, but no better, than usual. He wore an old red Adidas sweat suit. Some might call it retro, but on Monfrey it looked old and out of style. At least the comb that stood straight up in his Afro matched his gear. Too bad his blue kicks threw the whole thing off.

Monfrey got right to the point. “I’m in.”

“And?”

“They got me running so many errands, they calling me Gopher. One of them came up to me in the park and offered me weed. I told him I’d do some running for them if they’d gimme some. Kevin got me making little deliveries, grabbing them pizza and shit.”

“Kevin. Anybody call him Darkman?”

“He calls himself that. He’s a regular guy who thinks he ain’t a regular guy.” Monfrey talked with food in his mouth, so his words came out garbled. “He thinks it’s his destiny to take over your territory. He talks about you a lot. Knows about Sonny, too. But he says it’s you, not Sonny, who’s in charge.”

“What else does he say about me?” I forked noodles into my mouth.

“That you too young and inexperienced to handle him, and
that you’ll be done by the end of the year, one way or the other.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Is he planning something?”

“Don’t know.”

I chewed my noodles slow. “Tell me about his crew.”

“He got three guys with him from Miami. Crow, Natty, and Alejandro. The three of ’em live together just a few blocks from him and Leanne in Bed-Stuy. Kevin and Crow is tight—Crow got some say in how shit goes down. The others, you know, just do what Kevin tells them.”