“When have you known me not to be?”
“Well obviously I wouldn’t take the job. And I’d let Bug-Out know what’s up.”
“Not very professional are you?”
“Which is another reason why I’m not a cop. Bug-Out’s not working and he’s got mad responsibilities. You know better than anyone that sometimes you have to bend the rules to provide for your family. Not that I’m justifying what he’s done and I’ll set him straight. But desperate doesn’t always equal basing. It can also mean hungry.”
“Sheeeeit you’ve got to be kidding me! He and his old lady are on every government-funded program that exists. Section eight, welfare, Medicaid, WIC and whatever else there is. Trust me when I say, there ain’t nobody starving in that apartment. And everybody knows that piece of trash Dead Broke would pimp out his own mamma for a fix. So you tell me what other reason would Alonzo have for hanging out with a character like him? I heard that he’s reduced to selling everything he owns including the coat off his back. Now what does that tell you?”
There was a long silence and Havoc plucked the little red cinnamon smelling tree hanging from the rear-view mirror. He wasn’t about to confess that he had just given Bug-Out enough money to get beamed up like Scotty. If memory served him correct, Dead Broke lived in the Atlantic Towers complex which would explain why Bug-Out was so far from home when he found him wandering the streets, and why he didn’t have a coat. It also explained why he was so elusive when asked what he was doing there. Havoc turned to Smitty with a hurt look in his eyes. Smitty exhaled and felt his pain.
“This is not easy for me either son.” Smitty said.
“Yeah-I know.” Havoc said and reached for the pack of Newport’s on the dashboard.
“Alonzo’s my nephew. My sister’s kid for crying out loud. I gave him his first car.” Smitty said as Havoc lit a cigarette and shook his head then attempted to massage the growing headache away by rubbing his temples. “Your Aunt Mary and I were talking and she suggested that if I gave him a job at the club, that it might give him a sense of responsibility. But I eighty-sixed that idea for obvious reasons. So, I was thinking maybe if you talked to him, tried to get him to enroll into a detoxification program, he might listen and get his act together.”
“I don’t know Pop, I mean how the hell am I supposed to convince him to get it together, when deep down I’m not even sure he can?”
“I don’t know son. But I do know if anyone can get him to listen it’s you.”
Havoc felt his head nod but had no idea how he was going to talk his favorite cousin into seeking help for the addiction he claimed didn’t exist. “Okay, I’ll talk to him. And figure out how to convince him.”
A wave of relief came over Smitty. When his sister called him crying about her son’s problem he did not know what he was going to do. “Thanks son. I knew I could count on you. So about this party for Tatiana, I see your mother couldn’t call me herself to invite me, she had to send you to do it.” Havoc shrugged uncomfortably. “And what about food?”
“She’s having it catered.”
Smitty was slack jawed. “Catered? I own a supper club. I could have done that for free.”
“What do you want me to say Pop? She wanted it catered by someone else. I think one of her Church lady friend’s has a catering business.”
Smitty grumbled but was not about to share what he was thinking with his son about his mother. “I swear sometimes that mother of yours can be so damn difficult. When is she going to let go of the past?”
“I don’t know. Maybe when she’s good and ready.” Havoc snapped cutting his eyes over at his father then blew off some steam and made himself calm down. “Look Pop, let’s not do this Okay?”
Smitty shook his head. “Sorry son. I just wish she would talk to me.”
“What do you want me to tell you Pop? Write her a letter,” he said jokingly.
“You think she’d read it?” Smitty asked desperately. Havoc remained silent and gave him a raised eyebrow look indicating that his father had better not hold his breath waiting for his mother to compromise. “Yeah, it’d be a waste of paper. Well let me go back inside. If I don’t talk to you before the party I’ll see you there. And one more thing. Try not to get killed out here.”
“Everyday.” Havoc nodded then pulled off after his father got out. A mile away he remembered that Smitty never told him why it was so obvious that Tee-Tee’s party was going to be thrown at Nicky’s.
Havoc grew up in two completely different households. During the week he lived a privileged existence with his mother and sister in Canarsie amongst other solid upper-middle class families in what the kids from the nearby projects referred to as the ‘The bourgeois ghetto.’ And from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening, he stayed with his father in Bedford-Stuyvesant and got his education in street smarts and an edge over his peers by hanging out with his cousin Bug-Out and his crew. As a small boy he thought he had the coolest father in the world. Handsome, charismatic, adored by all and down to earth, Smitty didn’t discipline his son. Instead he schooled his son by teaching him how to observe, conduct himself with people and most importantly to work hard for what he wanted. But it wasn’t until he was older that he learned his perfect father wasn’t so damn perfect.
Chapter 6
The tranquility that characterized early Saturday mornings in the high-end residential district of the Williamsburg section was felt as Havoc made a left onto Bedford Street and cruised down its quiet cobbled streets. He chose the forlorn neighborhood because as he put it, ‘The stress is less and the sun is brighter.’
Passing a hodgepodge of nineteenth-century houses, abandoned factories and an aging Domino Sugar refinery building, the Trouble Consultant pulled up to the only occupied building for miles, a lonely two-story walkup devoid of life he leased and got out along with Mayhem who stretched before trotting over to her favorite hydrant. Havoc removed the massive padlocks from the gate over the garage adjacent to his building, lifted it up and drove inside. After parking beside a midnight black Jeep Cherokee, he locked up his expensive vehicles then unlocked his front door and wearily climbed the seemingly endless staircase leading to his home with stone feet.
“Be it ever so humble,” Havoc muttered over a yawn opening the door at the top of the stairs. Mayhem barged past him and made a bee-line for her food and water bowls. His eyes were heavy and all he could think about was the King-sized waterbed across the room as he shuffled inside. The sun was shining brightly through the wide picture framed window that boasted a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline. Sometimes in the summer he and Mayhem would go up to the roof and have a private barbeque as he marveled at the beautiful sight. He came over and pulled down the shades, closed the curtains, then flicked on the track lights overhead.
Havoc’s loft was ridiculous. Huge yet cozy. Brick-face walls. Glossy wooden floors. Just plain gorgeous. The marble mantle over the fireplace was overstocked with constant reminders of his unique and extraordinary profession. There were trophies, shiny medals, plaques, framed certificates and commendations boasting of his skills and accomplishments in boxing and firearms all testifying to his coordination, endurance and aggression. The only awards not on display were for the skills and moves he picked along the way in combat like wrestling and mixed martial arts.
In the corner dangling from a chain was an ‘Everlast’ punching bag worn from abuse and a workout bench stacked with the weights he used religiously to build his muscles into a protective suit of armor. Walking across the room past a pair of treadmills sitting idly side by side, he pushed back the red door, adorned with a velvet black light poster of a bikini-clad shapely afro sporting sista walking with a black panther to one of his two spacious walk-in closets and flicked on a light switch. Between the walls and garments there was so much red the inside of the closet looked like a crime scene.
In a time where wearing someone else’s name splashed across the back of designer
jeans was the height of fashion, Havoc made it his business to be up on the freshest styles. Hanging neatly on red wooden hangers were shirts, slacks, jeans and suits all designer label, all red. Gucci, Polo, Benetton, Calvin Klein, Bill Blass, Lee’s, Cham’s de Baron and Sergio Valente just to name a few. Red leather, shearling and suede coats and jackets hung on separate rods. There was even a special hook just for his red ties, belts and hats. On the bottom of the closet was a shoetree ripe with more kicks than a Bruce Lee flick. Clarks, Ballys, British Walkers, Doc Martins, Adidas, Nikes, Air Jordans, Reeboks, Filas, New Balance, Lottos with the switchable velcro patches, K-Swiss, Gucci and Pumas. If it was in style it was in Havoc’s closet. In fact, the only pair of kicks he didn’t own was Kangaroos because he thought the pouch on the side was straight up whack. Havoc removed his clothes, hung up his jacket and stuffed the clothes he had on in a bag for the cleaners.
Havoc then went into the kitchenette where he kept cases of Chuck Wagon and Gravy Train dog food stacked high beside a Whirlpool washing machine and dryer. He refilled Mayhem’s food and water bowls to the brim, jumped in the shower to wash the funk of the previous night away, then went about the rigorous task of mother and sister proofing his home.
He grabbed the semi-automatic rifle off the mantle, a 38 special from a bowl on the kitchen table, the semi-automatic handguns from the nightstand and tucked them along with his trusty red handled Glocks away in the secret compartment in the ceiling. The Black Tail porno magazines lying on the coffee table were tossed into a box and placed on the top shelf of his closet. The empty beer cans and over used ashtrays were scooped up into a giant Hefty garbage bag, twisty-tied and placed beside his already full garbage can. A half can of Lysol was sprayed to mask the smell of cheeba. Mayhem hid under the kitchen table as her master ran a Hoover over the beautiful and pricey red and gold Asian floor rug he received as a bonus from a furniture store owner whose life he saved after a neighboring furniture store owner tried to kill the competition-literally. He emptied the dishwasher then with a bucket full of Mr. Clean tackled the bathroom. With that done, all that was left for him to do was dust the shelves, the entertainment rack that housed his stereo, CD player, VCR, endless collection of movies on VHS, Nintendo Entertainment system and his TV. Now his home looked presentable for his mother and sister.
Beyond exhausted he had one more thing to do before getting some much needed sleep and that was check his phone messages. There were two separate phones lines. A black one for family, friends and the like. And a red one to coordinate his various appointments, dates and meetings with his clients. He reached for the answering machine box that was hooked up to his personal line first. The light blinked two times. He hit the message button and his voice came on sounding jovial.
‘Hi this is Tommy. I’m probably home. I’m just avoiding someone I don’t like. Leave me a message and if I don’t call back it’s you.’ BEEP! ‘Tommy this is your Mom. I wish you’d change that rude message anyway, I wanted to know what happened after you invited your father to Tee-Tee’s party. I know he probably said I’m acting foolish cause I didn’t call him myself, but I don’t care. That’s his problem. Besides he’s not coming to see me, he’s there to see his daughter. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is because I need your help. I’m having a hard time finding this Cabbage Patch doll that Tee-Tee wants for her birthday. Now the white ones are easy to find, no problem. The shelves are packed with them. But the black one’s, forget it! I’ve searched hi and low and had no luck. And don’t bother going to Fulton Street because I went to every toy store there and they don’t have any. I figured I’d better ask you now because I’ll have you know who with me later. Okay honey, expect us at around noonish, love you bye.’
Havoc scratched his baldhead wondering, where in the hell was he supposed to find the hottest new toy during the holiday season. He hit the button again.
BEEP! ‘Hi…it’s me Nicky.’ Havoc’s head snapped erect when he heard her voice. It sounded so sweet he could almost smell the balmy Egyptian Musk she wore come out the answering machine along with it. ‘Listen I know it’s last minute but I was wondering if you could stop by tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you about something. Don’t trip nothing’s wrong. There’s just something we need to discuss before Tee-Tee’s party. I’ll be home all day so drop by if you can. Take care and oh yeah, Happy New Year.’
After the message was over he contemplated playing it back just to hear her voice but refused to play himself like a Herb. The number light on the business answering machine flashed four times. He hit the button, this time he sounded all business.
‘This is Havoc, at the tone leave your name and message. I’ll get back to you.’ BEEP! ‘Hello, my name is Gloria Rueben and my situation is a sensitive one.’ The desperate sounding woman’s voice explained trying her best to remain dignified. ‘I lost two sons to street violence. Just buried my oldest a month ago. And now I fear my youngest is headed down the same path as his brothers. He’s been running around with a bunch of hoods and dealing drugs in Marcy Projects for some piece of filth named Johnny Hop. What I was hoping you could do is persuade him to choose a different path. I already tried the Scared Straight program, school guidance counselors even the beat cop that patrols my neighborhood and nothing’s worked. I know this sounds bizarre and it’s not the kind of call you normally get, but Michael is my only baby I have left. I’ve heard stories about you. The good things you’ve done for the community. Helping out people who have nobody to turn to and I think he’d listen if you talked to him. He just needs someone who cares. A role model. I’m desperate please call me at 718-’
Havoc shook his head then hit the erase button. “Sorry lady but I am nobody’s role model.”
BEEP! A throaty voice tinged with sobbing came on. In the background was more wailing. ‘Um-hello Havoc this is Roxanne Jenkins. We spoke last week about the job you’re doing for us. Well I wanted you to know that those stupid ass, no dick having mothafucka’s came by my bar and fucked with us again. They beat up my boyfriend Lamar when he tried to stop them. I mean it’s fucking New Years, you would think they’d have somewhere to be but obviously not. I know you are supposed to take care of them next Saturday, but I don’t think we can wait that long and I’d really appreciate it if you could do it tonight instead. There’s an extra something in it for your troubles. If you can do it then please call me back.’
BEEP! ‘Havoc you son of a bitch!’ Havoc raised his eyebrows and twisted his head at the chilling voice that sounded like the caller gargled with ammonia and crushed glass before calling. ‘Yo Havoc, you hurt my brother real bad!’
“I hurt lots of brothers real bad. And each one deserved it! Which one’s yours?” Havoc jokingly asked the answering machine.
‘You’d better watch your back cause when you’re least expecting it, I’ma sneak up on you like a motherfucking ninja and Bruce Leroy dat ass!’ the twisted voice on the machine threatened.
“Picture that.” Havoc said twisting his mouth unfazed by the mysterious caller’s attempt at intimidation. Empty threats went along with the territory and he got used to them a long time ago.
BEEP! ‘Ello my name es Cynthia Sanchez. I have huge-huge problem and I need your help please. My husband Eduardo. He hit me so I put him out. I got a how ju’ say, order of protection from the police. But he no care. Sometimes I see him outside my window standing there staring and I am very much scared. I tell the police, but they do nothing. It’s like they are waiting for him to hurt me or worse, before they will do something. If you are interested in taking me on as a client I work the eight to midnight shift at Junior’s Restaurant all this week. Just ask for me, Cynthia…bye.’
After jotting down locations, names and numbers Havoc got down on his knees and thanked God for allowing him to make it home safely then removed his red silk boxers and climbed into bed, clapped his hands twice activating the clapper and it was lights out.
The Trouble Consultant felt like he wasn’
t asleep for more than a few minutes when the phone rang. He reached out and picked it up with his eyes still shut.
“Who dis?” he mumbled.
“Hey I caught you, good.”
“Nicky?” he asked sitting up yawning.
“Yes. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Huh? Me? Naw-I wasn’t sleep.” He said grinning as her soft voice tickled his ear like a Q-tip.
“So, did you get my message?”
“Yeah I got it.” He said trying to sound nonchalant.
“So, can you stop by? I really need to see you.”
Havoc looked over at his clock. “Yeah I guess I can do that.” He said stifling a yawn with a balled fist.
“Good. You remember the address?” she teased.
“Oh you’ve got jokes? I’ll see you in a few.”
The Trouble Consultant went over to a second walk in closet with the black sliding door where he kept the clothes he wore when he wasn’t working and threw on a pair of Guess overalls, hi-top Jordan’s and a black Fila V-neck. Even in a hurry he was still fashion conscious.
“No-no girl stay here.” he stopped his dog as she went to follow him out.
Anxious to learn what was so important his ex-wife needed to speak with him about, the bald man opened up the garage and climbed behind the wheel of his Jeep Cherokee. Five minutes later while waiting at a light he spotted Bug-Out and Dead Broke on the corner making money hand over fist selling stolen black Cabbage Patch kids. He drove madly up onto the sidewalk and the customers scattered. He jumped out and stormed over. Dead Broke dipped off, leaving Bug-Out who was too petro to move. He got up in his cousin’s face so angry he could strangle him.
“I know what this looks like but-”
“Shut-up! If you aren’t honest with yourself, how can I trust what you say to me?” Bug-Out’s angry cousin reasoned. “I found out about a detox program and you will attend and get off that shit or so help me, I will fly that head. Make a decision!”
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