by Dorian Sykes
Wink had went all out to paint the picture like Offy was the man. He rented a presidential suite on the top floor of the Pontchartrain, along with a regular suite two doors down where the sixty bricks sat stashed. All Offy had to do was play big, like he was a kingpin, and everything would go smoothly.
At the hotel, Wink slammed down the phone and walked over to the table where Offy sat smoking a cigar.
“That was just JC. He’s on his way up now, so get ready.” Wink turned to Willie, who was slumped on the chaise lounge. “Be on point, my nigga.”
“I got you.” Willie nodded.
Wink paced the floor while waiting on JC. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Wink turned and snapped his fingers at Offy and Willie. Wink walked over to the door and peeked out the peephole. JC was standing beside some bear-lookin’ nigga, both dressed in all black. JC had a duffle bag in his hand. Wink snatched the door open and stepped aside, letting them in.
“JC, my man. Glad you made it,” said Wink. He gave JC a play and then proceeded to walk over to the table. “This here is my man.”
“Woo.” Offy stood up, interrupting Wink. He set his cigar in the ashtray, then walked around the table with a mean-mug on his face. “Who’s this?” he asked, waving to JC’s cohort.
JC looked back at his partner, then said, “He’s my gun. You know it’s our first time doing business, and he’s here to make sure everything’s on the up and up.”
“From now on, when you come to see my men, you are to come alone. Are we understood?” asked Offy.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“Have a seat. And you, take a seat over there where I can keep my eyes on you,” Offy told JD’s henchman.
Wink excused himself over to the sofa so that they could talk. So far, Offy was handling his. He sounded like the real McCoy.
JC took his seat directly across from Offy and waited as he relit is cigar, then took a long puff.
“What can I do for you in terms of cocaine?”
“Ghost was telling me you could give me a key for twenty-two. If the coke is good, I’ll grab five right now and keep in touch.”
“I am glad that you plan to keep in touch, because you know this is a very generous price, and not just in these times. I am looking for us to establish a relationship, long term, of course.”
“I’m with that.”
Offy played it cool. He waited for a few minutes, just studying JC as he puffed his stogey. Offy snapped his fingers for Willie.
“Bring me five.” Offy waited for Willie to leave the room before speaking. “I personally will not be dealing with you in the future. You will be dealing through my worker, who just left the room. I just wanted to meet with you. The product will always be the same, and so will the price. I will always have eyes on you. This is a marriage. The only way out is death. Jail can’t even save you if you were to cooperate with the government. I will stop at nothing to get you. Are we understood?”
JC really thought he was sitting there with the African Godfather himself. “I understand, and I will not cross you.”
Willie walked back into the room. He carried a duffle bag over to the table and removed the five kilos. Wink had rewrapped the bricks using black tape and some African symbol as the stamp. He didn’t want to chance anybody recognizing the bricks as being from Fatts, plus the black tape gave them that real African look.
Offy stood up and pulled a switchblade from the inside of his suit jacket, then split one of the keys down the middle. He pulled up a nice-size chunk of coke on the tip of his knife and held it out to JC.
“You see that? Fish scale.” Offy didn’t know what the hell he just said. He was just reciting what Wink had drilled into his brain a thousand times.
JC could see all the oils and crystal flakes embedded within the coke. He nodded his approval.
“Money,” said Offy.
JC reached down between his feet for the bag of money. He unzipped it, then dumped a bunch of rubber-banded rolls of money onto the table.
“Each one is a thousand. Altogether, it’s a hundred and ten G’s,” said JC.
“I’ll count it later. Here you are. I believe these belong to you.” Offy waved at the kilos.
JC stood up and began packing the bricks into his duffle bag. Wink walked over like he hadn’t been ear-hustlin’.
“Y’all straight?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re good,” said Offy. He kept his eye on ole bear, who was not standing.
“I should be done in a couple days. I’ma call you,” said JC, zipping the bag shut and grabbing its handle.
“Just remember what I said.” Offy nodded at JC.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to the elevator,” said Wink. He was trying to hurry up and get JC out of there in case Gucci showed up early.
Once they got out into the hallway, JC dug in his pocket and gave Wink a large stack of money. “That’s for pluggin’ me in. That was some real nigga shit. If you ever need anything, just holla.”
Wink gave JC a pound and watched them get onto the elevator. He was cool with niggas thinking he was the middleman. He’d last a lot longer that way.
Fifteen minutes later, Wink’s pager went off. Beep! Beep! Beep! It was Gucci. He was downstairs in the lobby, on his way up. Wink hoped that Gucci hadn’t run into JC. If so, there could be problems. They would operate as if that didn’t happen. Offy just had to put it down exactly as he did with JC, and Gucci, then Squirt, would be on the team too.
Chapter Thirty-three
Wink was putting the finishing touches on his dad’s plan. Everything worked out smoothly with Gucci and Squirt. They each bought ten bricks and promised to be back within a week to snatch ten more. Meanwhile, the old heads in the city were still holding fast to their drought scheme. Little did they know the only thing there was a drought on was the amount of money they’d be making once Gunz plugged Wink in with this Cuban connect he kept talking about. Wink couldn’t hardly wait, neither. He had plans to lock down the city and beyond.
Willie was driving Wink around, making last-minute stops before he jumped on the plane to go see his father.
“Pull over behind that Jag,” ordered Wink. He pointed to an empty spot out front of Mr. Walls’ Arcade.
“I’ll be right back,” said Wink. He got out the car and looked at the pearl-blue Jag that belonged to Mr. Walls. That was all the old nigga pushed since back in the day. With the exception of the pearl-blue Jaguar, 7 Mile Rd. was deserted on that early Sunday morning. Every day at the same time for the past thirty-five years, Mr. Walls broke down the doors to his ole arcade. No matter if it were rain, sleet, or snow, his old ass was there, and often he was the only one there. He still had all the vintage arcade machines, nothing really too up to date, which was why hardly no one ever frequented the spot.
But Mr. Walls didn’t care about customers unless they were buying kilos of cocaine. Mr. Walls used the arcade as a front. For the past thirty-five years, he’d been selling keys out the place, and his old ass showed no signs of retiring. He owned casino boats and real estate all over the world, but he wanted to sit inside the dingy arcade and sell his coke. Old bastard was far beyond stubborn. He refused to pass the torch.
Wink had been meaning to pay Mr. Walls a visit since he got back from seeing his dad, but things got hectic, and so time was on the old nigga’s side. Today, however, was a different story. He was going to hang up his jersey and retire whether he liked it or not.
Wink played two games of Ms. Pac Man. He hadn’t played that game since he was a kid, but it was still fun.
“Ah, man,” he said, tapping the side of the machine. He turned and walked over to the counter where Mr. Walls sat watching him suspiciously. Wink hadn’t spoken a word since he walked in the door, and Mr. Walls knew he wasn’t there to play no damn game.
“My mother used to bring me in here when I was little, and I would always play Ms. Pac Man. Is that the same machine?”
“It is.” Mr. Walls was real dry. He didn�
�t trust this young thug draped in gold, standing before him.
“My father says that he used to come in here before he got locked up.”
“Oh, and who’s your father?” Mr. Walls was now curious.
“You oughta remember him well. He used to work for you. He’s named after one of these.” Wink pulled a beaming chrome Taurus 9 mm from his waist and pointed at Mr. Walls forehead. “You don’t remember Gunz? You just the fuck oughta. Your rat ass told on him about some bodies you paid him to hit for you.”
“I never took the stand on Gunz,” said Mr. Walls. His voice trembled along with his old brown, wrinkled hands. He was giving Wink exactly what he craved to see in a man’s eyes right before he killed ’em: fear.
“Gunz was like a son to me. I would never—”
Mr. Walls’ words were cut short by gunfire, ripping his face apart. Boom! Boom! Boom!
Wink walked around the counter after Mr. Walls staggered back and fell to the ground. He stood over Mr. Walls and let the clip ride out on his old ass. When the shots ceased, Mr. Walls was dead, with his eyes locked to the ceiling and his mouth wide open. That was the look of death and high Wink had come for.
He was getting more like his dad with every kill. It was almost addictive. The sight of blood and a stretched-out dead body gave Wink a rush and a sense of power. Just knowing that he could take a life with the simple squeeze of the trigger infatuated him.
He wiped the gun clean and used his shirt to lay it across Mr. Walls’ chest. He figured, Fuck it, just leave it. Long as it doesn’t have my prints on it. Plus, the homicide won’t have far to look for their murder weapon. He had killed two birds with one clip. He had avenged his father, and Mr. Walls was now one less old stubborn bastard he’d eventually have to kill.
Wink came walking out of the arcade, eating some Chewy penny candy he lifted from behind the counter. He climbed in the passenger seat and offered Willie some candy.
“What were you in there doing all that time?” asked Willie as he took the wrapper off a candy.
“You know I had to play me some Ms. Pac Man. That’s still my shit. Come on. We gon’ be late,” said Wink. He tapped the dashboard, then popped another Chewy into his mouth.
A while later, Willie pulled around to the front entrance of the Detroit City Airport and parked. He leaned back in his seat and faced Wink, awaiting his orders for while he was away.
“You got the keys to the storage, right?”
“Yeah, I got ’em.” Willie nodded.
“A’ight, hold it down until I get back. Only fuck with JC, Gucci, and Squirt for right now. And no shorts.”
“What about Ball? He called me this morning and said he was outta work.”
Wink thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t ready to give Willie the game on how to mail it.
“Just tell his big ass I said to take a week off and I’ma hit ’im when I get back.”
“A’ight. I’ma see you when you get back.” Willie gave Wink a pound, then reached over to pop the trunk.
“No shorts, no losses,” said Wink as he climbed out the car. He walked around back to the trunk and grabbed his two carry-on bags. Willie honked the horn and chunked the deuces as he pulled off, looking through the rearview mirror.
Wink heard them call his flight number as he walked inside the terminal. He scanned the numbers mounted at each loading ramp, then stepped to the back of the line, set to board his plane. After handing the woman stationed at the wooden podium his ticket stub, Wink boarded the plane and quickly settled into his comfortable nook up in first class. He declined the steak and potatoes being offered. He just wanted to close his eyes and wake up in that small hick town, Leavenworth, Kansas.
When Wink woke up, the back tires of the plane were screeching against the runway. Wink sat up in his seat and looked out his window. He hated the landscape of this state. If it weren’t for his dad, Wink would have never been within a hundred miles of Kansas, let alone Leavenworth.
Wink took a private cab up to the prison. It seemed like the Green Mile driving them long, farm-invested roads. All you saw was horses and cows, horses and cows. Every so often, you’d see some old cracker tending to his farm.
Wink made it inside the prison, and to his surprise, he was permitted to the visiting hall almost immediately. He sat with his arm stretched around the back of the seat next to him, watching visitors while he waited on his dad to show up. Three men were escorted into the visiting hall by a C.O., one of them being Wayne, Sr. Wink pulled back a huge grin and stood up while he waited on his dad to check in with the C.O. stationed at the front desk. Wink reached his hand out for his dad’s.
“What’s that? Give me a hug,” said Wayne, Sr.
He pulled Wink to him. They embraced all of ten seconds, and for every moment, Wink could feel the love his dad had for him.
“Let’s sit down,” said Wayne Sr.
“It’s all done. Everything.” Wink began to name names, but his dad stopped him.
“Son, what’s understood need not be said.” He paused for a moment and studied Wink’s eyes. They were starting to turn cold. There was still a hint of youth and innocence, but Wayne, Sr. could tell it wouldn’t be there much longer. Soon, he’d be staring into his own eyes, the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.
“What’s wrong? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”
“Wayne, I don’t want you to ever believe that I don’t care about you. The only reason I’m even showing you all these things, and Allah will still punish me for doing so, it’s because you’re my son. I don’t want some other bum nigga teachin’ you, because he’s only gonna teach you what he wants you to know, and that’s nothing. You see where I’m coming from?”
“I think so.” Wink was a little confused. He didn’t understand how much it tore his father up inside to watch his only son travel down that same one-way road he’d taken.
“Wayne, I should be teaching you how to avoid the streets, but comin’ from me, an old washed-up nigga serving two life sentences, you wouldn’t listen. I know you’re going to chase your desires, ’cause I did. All I’m saying is, I don’t ever want you to lose sight of the fact that I’m still your father, and our relationship doesn’t just have to consist of what we’re doing. You can holla at me about anything.”
“I got you, pops.” Wink broke back a smile. “You okay? You always gettin’ serious on me.”
Wayne, Sr. managed to smile. “Nah, I just be wanting to make sure I let you know that I’m here for you. You don’t know how many nights I laid in my bunk, wondering how you were doing, what you were doing, wishing I could shoot some ball with you. All the stuff kids do with their old man.”
“I feel you, Dad, and it’s not your fault.”
Wink’s dad nodded while looking down at the floor. He knew deep down it was his fault, even though Gary, Fatts, and Mr. Walls ratted him out. He was too far in the game, and eventually, jail or death was coming.
Wink knew something that would lift his dad’s spirit. “I met this girl the other day. She’s Muslim too.”
“Is that right? What’s her name?”
“Armeeah. She’s Arabic.”
“That’s all right, Wayne. Maybe she’ll rub some Islam off on you. How’d you meet her?”
“Up at this Coney Island. Her parents own it. They don’t let her date or nothing, so we be having to sneak around, but other than that, I like her.”
“One of Allah’s greatest gifts he bestowed upon man is woman, especially if she’s Muslimah. So, son, be patient with her, because I know she’s not like all the other girls runnin’ around out there.”
“I got you.” Wink nodded. All that was cool, but it was time to get down to business. Wink watched his father’s eyes as they traveled around the visiting hall.
“Don’t turn just yet, but there’s a Cuban guy who just walked in. He’s who I been tellin’ you about. His name’s Franko, biggest thing to ever come out of Cuba besides cigars.”
Wink saw the old
, shriveled-up, gray-haired man his dad praised as he walked away from the C.O. station past their seats. He might have been old, but he reeked of money. One sight of Franko, and you automatically knew you were dealing with real choo-choo long-train money.
Franko smiled from ear to ear as he crossed the floor. He opened his arms wide and said something in Spanish.
“Who’s the woman?” asked Wink. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Franko.
“I believe that’s his wife,” said Wayne Sr.
“Damn, she’s right.” Wink knew the old fart really had to be holding now. His wife was no more than twenty-five, exotic, with long black hair, ass together. She could have any man she wanted, and yet she was up on visit with a yard of ancient tongue down her throat.
Franko finally finished greeting his wifey and took a seat beside her, facing Wink and his dad. Franko nodded, then smiled, to which Wink’s dad did the same. He could see Franko’s lips moving. Then his wife looked their way and flashed a smile.
“All right, now try not to stare,” said Wayne Sr.
“When is everything gon’ be straight?” asked Wink.
“We’re ready now. I just needed to see you face to face before we got started. Son, listen to me. I’ve known Franko for a long time now, and he’s a good man. He’d do anything for me, which is why he’s agreed to give you a shot. Usually, it would take years and thousands of keys later before you’d ever meet Franko. He’s the man. No one sits above him except God. So, what I’m saying to you, son, is to always deal straight up, because I really value Franko’s friendship, and I value your life. Your entering deep waters, Wayne, and you have to man up in the event something goes wrong. Remember what I told you. This is what awaits us at the end of the road. I’ma do everything in my power to steer you clear of this place, but son, you gotta know this thang is real.”
Wink nodded and continued to listen as his father gave him the game in its rawest form, straight with no cut-card. If Wink was going to lay the game, he had to play by its rules, and any violations would not be forgiven. Wink got his dad’s point: no snitchin’. He had his dad’s blood running through his veins, so tellin’ wasn’t an option. Wink was just wishing he was Franko, over there all hugged up with Ms. Cuba.