The Syndicate 3

by Brick

  I figured Uncle Snap needed this distraction, because as I looked him in his eyes, I could tell that his mind was far away.

  “What you need, nephew?”

  Damn, his voice was groggy.

  “Since the castings are being analyzed, you know I’m having the Forty T sweep all the houses except Absolan’s residence.”

  “And why is that?” Uncle Snap asked.

  “It’s a hot spot that needs to be monitored, not swept through. Not until we get our hands on some bastards who will talk,” I explained. “But I’m working on that, Unc. So check it. I was going through some things, and Absolan had a routine. I was in my head, thinking that we retrace his steps, and by we, I mean you and I.”

  “Hmm . . .” Uncle Snap rubbed his chin in thought. “What’s these spots?”

  Now, we were getting to some shit. I leaned back in my chair and pulled out the intel sheets. “Let me see. He hit up his church shit and was running that. Two black mofos walking up in his church ain’t going to work, so I’m sending some of our inconspicuous people up in there.”

  “A’ight, nephew.” Uncle Snap chuckled. “Go on.”

  “So, you and I can hit up a couple of his favorite spots. He wasn’t known to hit up the chess spots like Cavriel, but the fact that he liked to hit up the spa lets me know he had some other vices outside of being a mobster.”

  Rolling around NYC as two black men, one older, I knew that whatever we did, we had to make sure we knew what areas we had flexibility in and what areas we didn’t. Commission or not, you rolled up in the wrong spot and it could be lights out or you’d be locked up. So a brotha had to think this shit out. Whoever was able to get to Absolan had to have some form of privilege where he or she was able to move in his zone in a cloak of invisibility. Which meant I had an idea that whoever had him wasn’t a person of color.

  “You sure, nephew?”

  “Yeah, all I need to do is get close enough to the spots that have Wi-Fi, and I can hack into the shop’s security.”

  “And then I can get in old school. Be slick about how we ask questions and then walk out.”

  I looked at Uncle Snap with a grin. “Exactly.”

  The OG leaned so that his arms sat on his knees, and then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask of what I knew was moonshine. He unscrewed the silver top, then took a swig. The scent burned my nose hairs as he said, “Then let’s get into some fun, nephew.”

  Shit must have tasted like water for the old head, because he downed that gulp with no flinching or anything. I remembered how I used to drink like that. But now I knew I couldn’t even risk a taste of anything, for fear of it triggering my addiction. The thought took my mind to Inez. I knew Shanelle would keep her leveled out. I hadn’t called her. Didn’t want to stress her out. We’d learned in our addiction meetings that stress was a trigger. I didn’t want to risk it. Loved her too much.

  “Yessir, and maybe Von will turn over stones as he does his thang as well.” I glanced toward my brother and noticed him coming our way. “Everything good with Shanelle?”

  “For now, yeah. The house is protected. Jojo is still closed off, but outside of that, she’s holding it down,” Von explained. “We need to get through this shit as quickly as possible. Let me run down some things me and Unc were talking about.”

  “A’ight, I’m listening.”

  I sat there as he told me about how some shit in Pop King’s journal wasn’t lining up. Compound that with what was going on now with the Commission, and to me, shit seemed suspect for sure. I guessed this go-round in NYC, we were going to be helping out the OGs and those from the past to salvage the foundation. Otherwise, more troubles would be coming our way.

  Chapter 10

  Javon

  A lot of things weren’t making sense to me, and I hated to be placed into a situation where the mastermind behind all the madness thought we were stupid motherfuckers. That insulted my intelligence. It insulted my interest. It also insulted the time I had put out there. So, after flipping through the journal in my hand, I tucked it away, then exhaled and tapped my foot against the knuckles of a man who was testing my everlasting nerve.

  “Paulo. That’s your name, correct?” My gaze scanned the urban skyline that was Queens. The sun was bright, though chilly weather encapsulated us. It caused our breath to vaporize into steam and leave nice little clouds in the air as I spoke and Paulo frantically panted.

  “Yes. I . . . I don’t know nothin’, man . . . nothin’, understand? I was just checking out his groceries, as usual, and walking them to his home. That’s on everything.”

  A simple crate sat under me, while my dark jean-clad leg was stretched out, crushing Paulo’s hand. I had on a tailored black overcoat that had a black hoodie lining. The hood covered my head, and the tails of the coat were parted, because I was leaning forward. My hands were covered in black leather driving gloves, and the black boots I had chosen to wear were causing hell, thanks to the waffle bottoms.

  “No doubt. I believe you, Paulo. I do.” My brother had pulled through on his surveillance. “But you were the last person to see him, correct?”

  Paulo was stretched out wide on top of his grocery store roof, as if being prepped to be tarred and feathered. Lucky stood to the left of Paulo’s body and was chewing on a Twizzler while slowly walking back and forth with his hands in his pockets.

  “Several men linked to working with the kidnappers were also seen exiting your deli,” Lucky said as he strolled up to a stretched-out Paulo. He squatted near him, then hit him in the face with his Twizzler. “Have you lost your loyalty to us, Paulo? Or were they scoping out Absolan’s places?” That Twizzler tapped against Paulo’s jaw in tandem as Lucky taunted the shaking and anxious man. “What did you see that you aren’t saying, my friend?”

  I gave a deep chuckle and pressed my foot down harder, until Paulo screamed. Lucky was fucking with Paulo , seeing if the man was broken enough to spill out anything.

  “Please don’t kill me. Please. I have a family,” Paulo pleaded.

  The sky was a light gray. The smell of incoming snow had birds fluttering above us in confusion. Cars zipped around, and people walked around without knowing what was going down on the rooftops above them. The occasional scent of food and coffee mixed with the smell of trash and of the onset of winter.

  Only texting with my brother and watching Lucky toy with the man before me kept me entertained. From what I was reading, Uncle Snap had Cory shuffling around, as if they were Jehovah’s Witnesses passing around the Watchtower. It was a good ploy and a good cloaking mechanism. Judging from the texts that had been sent, Paulo had given the men only sandwiches and whatever else they had ordered, which meant that only the deli had been scoped out and nothing more.

  “We all have families, my man, but what that gotta do with a piss in the wind?” I pointed down to where a large wet spot had formed under Paulo. I spun my cell in between my hands and kept cool. This dude was an interesting type, which meant to me that he wasn’t a goon of any importance.

  “T-this is all I know. I . . . I transport Absolan, and I bring whatever meals or necessities he needs.” Paulo spoke the words between the chatterings of his teeth. “I . . . I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no other goons, on my word. On my family.”

  Lucky circled Paulo. “I know that you’ve been questioned already, but tell us, did you see anything odd or questionable in your time working with Absolan leading up to his disappearance and after?”

  “N-no. I had ma brotha take ova the counter. I packed up his favorite minestrone soup, a pastrami sammie, some pastries, and a coffee.” Paulo turned his head to try to look at us both through his swollen eyes. “I then went next door to grab his groceries. Then I walked out. Saw nothing that day. Was stone quiet. Yeah . . . yeah . . . I rememba thinkin’ that was strange, ’cus we ain’t never had a quiet block round his home.”

  “And you saw nothing?” Lucky asked quickly.

  “N-no. Nothin.’ Ha
nd ta God,” Paulo squeaked.

  “Shame, because I’ve seen this before.” Lucky pushed at Paulo’s waist, making him turn to show me a crest on the flank of his back. “Been seein’ that pop up a lot now.”

  I leaned and then tilted my head to the side. My gaze went to Lucky, and the look on my face said, “This motherfucker right here.”

  Paulo began rambling. “That? That ain’t nothing. I-it’s just an order, something to protect our neighborhood. Yeah. Nothing that’s a threat, I promise.” Paulo pressed his hands together and shook his head.

  “Paulo, Paulo. See, I’m inclined to believe you, because we all have families, ya know, but, ah, because of how I grew up, I’ve heard about the Knights of St. Assisi, who are associated with, eh . . . the Vatican. Something that was once linked to Absolan.” Lucky scratched the side of his jaw, looking like The Thinker. “If my history is correct.”

  In the research I did when I first came into everything, I had learned that the Knights of St. Assisi were a sect of goons who were like the Forty Thieves. Professional muscle used by those connected to the Vatican, and overseen by Absolan himself, before they were dismantled. According to rumors, they lost themselves in an excess of greed, counterfeiting, trafficking, and a shitload of murder and mayhem.

  The fact that the Knights’ emblem was on Paulo was interesting. The second fact that we had learned earlier in the day was that a specific type of shell casing associated only with the Knights had been found in Cavriel’s home. It was that crest, with its rearing horse and a multitude of crosses, that made me finish texting everything that we had just learned, then stand to shift my foot and press it against Paulo’s throat.

  “Now . . .” I tucked my cell in my coat. Looked around while pushing my sleeves up and talking nonchalantly. “If we were to exhume the bodies of the men we saw entering your deli, would we find that same harmless crest on them?”

  “God,” Paulo grunted. Spittle flew everywhere. He gritted his teeth as tears slipped down his face.

  “Would we?” I asked, pressing.

  “N-n-yes. God, yes!”

  I looked at Lucky; then he thumbed his nose. In a flash, his gun was out and was pointing at Paulo’s skull. “I hate fucking liars.”

  Without blinking, Lucky pulled the trigger. It was a clean shot between the eyes. Shock frozen in eternal rest was on Paulo’s face.

  “Round up Paulo’s brother Frankie,” Lucky ordered. “If he’s suspiciously disappeared, grab the kids, grab the mother, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and so on, and end their lives.”

  One of the Forty Thieves with us gave a quick nod, then disappeared.

  Stepping over Paulo’s body, I slipped my hands in my coat pockets. “It’s like that?” I asked while looking out at the view.

  “Can’t be nothing else but that.” Lucky was looking in the opposite direction as we stood shoulder to shoulder. “A king’s descent was put out on us. The Knights are a part of that. Therefore, cousin, what they put on us, we put on them in return.”

  I turned my head and looked at the side of Lucky’s face. Dude had a skull cap on that obscured his face. His jaw was clenched tight, as was his posture. Shit was like looking in a mirror with how I was a year ago. Lucky was a nigga hell bent on extracting vengeance and protecting his pops. I didn’t blame him, not a bit.

  If people could be reincarnated, then on my life, the way Lucky spoke made me think of Kingston. A light chuckle came from me as I thought of that, because if reincarnation was real, then King would be a spiteful motherfucker in this current life if he came back through Lucky. It would be fitting as well.

  “What do you know about the summer of nineteen eighty-five?”

  Lucky gave me a look of curiosity. “Not a damn thing, other than that being around the time King died, right? I was born five months later as well.”

  “The old man talk about that time to you yet?”

  “Naw, but he needs to, considering what I know now, cousin,” Lucky said with a slight tinge of abrasiveness to his voice.

  “Yeah, I said as much to him when I found out yesterday.” I added emphasis to the word yesterday to let the nigga know that he had to chill with me and that family secrets seemed to hit me last minute as well.

  “What’s your angle?” Lucky asked me, turning to slide his hands in his pockets.

  All this shady shit had me thinking, could I go there with Lucky? Revealing a little crumb while holding back my true agenda wasn’t nothing to me. I just needed to shape that shit to work out in favor of family first. Mama’s and now King’s words were teaching me that.

  “Don’t have one.” We both moved to allow Paulo’s body to be removed. We then headed down from the roof. “But like you, I’m being hit with a lot of history.” I paused on the steps and looked at him. “History that feels like it’s repeating itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I cracked my neck as we walked. “Just that last time a nigga went missing, he ended up dead in a fire, body burnt to toast, and all due to a call to meet with the Commission.”

  “Hold up.” Lucky grabbed my arm.

  I looked down at it and up at him slowly, which had him drop his hold quickly.

  “My bad, but, ah, explain that last part, okay?” he said.

  “Nothing to explain, yet,” I coolly stated. “Just some shady shit that I’m noticing that is familiar to me. Like these Knights.”

  “Were they around back then?” I heard Lucky ask me.

  A quick glance Lucky’s way had us stopping directly in front of our ride. “I don’t know, cousin. Were they? Might need to have that talk with your pops about that time, including the ins and outs of your birth, I’m just saying. These old heads did a lot of shit that we’re just finding out. And it’s shit that shaped the very foundation of both our united groups, and our lives, man. Don’t you have questions?”

  I watched Lucky stand in a stoic silence. His jaw twitched while he studied me, deep in thought. Again, it was like some mirror shit. A cool chill whipped around us. We both quietly climbed into our unassuming ride, an everyday SUV. Appearances were everything when playing invisible. Once we had sat down and the SUV had pulled off, the change in Lucky’s body language answered all my own inner questions.

  Dude had just had weight dropped on him, and like I’d had to when I first came in, Lucky now had to assess his entire world.

  “Yeah, I have questions.”

  Resting my arm on my knee, I watched the streets while Lucky drove. “Now answer me this. When you find out what you need to know, how will your loyalty go?”

  “Man, I don’t even know, Von.”

  Lucky was watching the lights, while gripping the steering wheel.

  “Are we good? That’s all I need to know, because there’s shit I gotta find out as well,” I explained.

  “We’re good, especially when ya unc keeps a closed mouth around my mother.”

  I chuckled at that shit. “As you learned, they have history, history deeper than the two of us. Can’t do shit about it but make sure neither draws on the other.”

  “True that.” Lucky stretched a fist out and slammed it on the roof. “So, you think the Knights might have taken out King in the name of the Commission?”

  “Didn’t say all of that, but I am noticing some patterns. The Commission was good to King, as far as I know, but some funky shit did occur around the time they reached out for an unplanned meeting. Kinda like was done to me and my fam during our shit.”

  “A’ight.” Lucky rubbed his hands together, then gripped the wheel again. “Well, let’s get the universe to unravel some more knowledge for us. Case in point, since the Knights seem to be our lead in finding Absolan, who the fuck pulled them outta retirement?”

  “Time to find that out. Maybe Frankie got the answers.” I sent a text to Cory, then sat back in thought while relaying coded information to Cory and Uncle Snap. Heavy was the head that wore the crown.

  * * *

  Sweat
dripped from my chin to the floor. The room I was in smelled of must, mildew, burning flesh, and something like the scent of an electric current. I stood saturated in my own sweat. Spatters of blood decorated my tank and gray sweatpants. My knuckles were covered in bloody bandages wrapped in thumbtacks, metal screws, and sharp nails.

  “Kuya, hit that current in his ear.” By ear, I meant the gaping wound on the side of Frankie’s head where his ear used to be.

  Cory sat on a crate by Frankie’s swinging body, with a pair of jumper cables in his gloved hands.

  “No,” Frankie screamed, pulling at the chain that he was hanging from, arms pointing to the ceiling. That rattling chain was wrapped around his wrists and his neck. His body was covered in bruises and cuts from where my fists had met his flesh. His ribs had cracked from the force of my punches.

  “Oh, now you hear me, nigga,” I spat out, tired of working this fucker up. “Now we can get somewhere, correct?”

  “Or does my friend have to slice another appendage from your body?” Lucky stood face-to-face with a hanging Frankie. His face was covered in blood, and in his hand was a butcher blade. “Matter of fact . . .”

  Lucky reached his hand out and snapped, motioning to one of his men who held a tablet. “You bastards want to wipe out my line without consequences? Huh?”

  “Oh no . . . no . . . come on, man,” Frankie cried as he looked at the tablet. On it was Paulo’s family and Frankie’s.

  It was apparent that the nigga was heartbroken by the way his face was a ruddy color, but when it darkened and his face contorted, I knew the real deal was climbing to the surface.

  “Fotti tua madre,” Frankie spat out in fury at the scene of his wife being shot. “And ya family, ya fucking mook. Ain’t nothin’ that you can do to me. You fucking mutt will be cleansed from this earth, and with it, everyone that accepted you on our throne.”

  Sinister laughter came from Frankie. “I sliced that Jewish bastard’s throat. Watched him look at me in surprise over it. Know why? Because I had gotten in where no one could. The Commission will fall, and once we’re done, we’ll move on to the rest of you niggers.”