The Fix 3

by K'wan

  “Is there a problem here?” Monk addressed the crew.

  “Nah, ain’t no problem, old head.” Swann raised his hands in surrender. “We were just having a little chat with this young man.”

  Monk studied Swann and smirked. “Since when you need guns to chat?” He leveled his shotgun and cocked the slide. “I suggest you boys keep it moving before I start feeling talkative myself.”

  The youngest of the group, the one with the cornrows, took a step forward but Swann held him back. “You got that one. We were just leaving.”

  “A wise young man,” Monk sneered.

  Swann motioned for his people to fall back. He reached in his pocket and handed Li’l Monk a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. “If you happen to change your mind, give me a call.”

  Monk stood there, still cradling the shotgun, watching Swann and his crew get back into the Jeep. The young one who wanted to pop off was glaring at them from the back seat. Monk responded by blowing him a kiss. “What was that all about?” he asked his son once the danger had passed.

  “Just some hood shit,” Li’l Monk downplayed it.

  “I’m a crackhead, not a fool. I can see Shai sending Swann to handle some hood shit, but not Angelo. He’s old school and a serious cat.” Monk was speaking about the older man who had been with Swann. He hadn’t said at the time but he recognized him from when he was a soldier under Poppa Clark. “Shoot straight with me, junior,” Monk demanded.

  “He wanted to talk about that shit with Pharaoh,” Li’l Monk told him.

  “Boy, didn’t I tell you to keep your nose out of that mess? Ain’t nothing you can do about that but try to keep from getting killed when it jumps off.”

  “That ain’t what Swann thinks,” Li’l Monk shot back. He hated when his father tried to treat him like a kid.

  “Oh yeah, and what exactly is it that Swann thinks?” Monk asked.

  “He thinks that I can help to squash it, because me and Omega are the muscle and the soldiers respect us.”

  Monk looked at his son seriously. “And what do you think?”

  “I think that war ain’t no good for either side. I’m just out here trying to get a dollar. I don’t wanna die out here over no bullshit.” Li’l Monk said honestly.

  Monk nodded in approval at the answer. “Maybe your ass is actually out here learning something on these streets. War is a nasty business, but unfortunately it’s a part of the game you’ve chosen to play. If you don’t want no part of it, I suggest you hang up your pistols and square up.”

  Li’l Monk laughed. “And go back to starving? No, thanks.”

  “Well you can’t have it both ways, Li’l Monk. You either stand tall or get your ass out of the way,” Monk told him.

  Li’l Monk nodded. “Pretty sound advice.”

  “That’s what fathers are for. And on that note, I got moves to make. I got people to see and stashes to snatch.”

  “Before you go, can I ask you something, Dad?”

  It was the first time Li’l Monk had called him Dad since he was a kid, so Monk knew whatever it was had to be weighing heavily on him. “Sure, son.”

  “What kind of man was Poppa Clark?” Li’l Monk asked, thinking on what Swann had said to him.

  It was an odd question. “I never met him personally, but from what I hear he was a class act. They don’t make ’em like Poppa Clark anymore. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering, that’s all.”

  Monk could tell there was more to it, but didn’t press the issue. “Okay.”

  “And thanks for holding me down tonight,” Li’l Monk said sincerely.

  “Anytime, son. I was never there to teach you to play catch or no shit like that, so the least I can do is be there to put a hole in a nigga from time to time. You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m heading over to Sophie’s for the night,” Li’l Monk told him.

  “That might not be a bad idea. I can sleep better knowing you’re lying up in some pussy, rather than worrying about you lying in a ditch. These streets don’t love nobody, especially us Monks.” Monk started walking off, but Li’l Monk called after him.

  “Do you think I’m doing the right thing by standing with Pharaoh in this?” Li’l Monk asked.

  Monk pondered the question before answering. “I think you already knew the answer to that question before you asked it,” he replied before disappearing into the night.

  CHAPTER 22

  Ramses lounged on the front steps of his East Harlem brownstone, enjoying the nighttime breeze and a mild. It had been a hectic few weeks for him and it was the first time he had actually been able to relax.

  Things within the organization were becoming increasingly turbulent. Their new relationship with the Italians had helped to alleviate some of the pressure, but Mr. D being murdered had caused a hiccup that was threatening to turn into a stinking belch that they would all have to smell. As if that wasn’t bad enough Poppito’s emissary, Felix, was becoming impatient with their futile investigation into Petey’s murder. Ramses could remember a time when he and Pharaoh would’ve told both parties to eat a dick and arm up rather than be diplomatic about it, but they no longer had the luxury that came with being a superpower in the drug game. Their team was still strong, but their strength depended heavily on their alliances and business relationships. Times were changing and they had to adapt or risk becoming extinct. It was a bitter pill, but one that they had to swallow whether they liked it or not.

  “I’m about to run to the store, do you need anything?” Estelle asked, coming down the front steps of the brownstone. She was an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair, and kind of on the portly side.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Ramses said.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a little while. Keep an eye on the roast I got in the oven. Don’t let it get all dry. You know I hate a dry roast,” Estelle said.

  “Sure thing,” Ramses agreed.

  As Estelle was walking down the block, King Tut came walking up. Tut gave her a smile and curt nod before continuing on to meet Ramses. “Yo, Ramses, I didn’t know you still lived with your mom.”

  “Don’t be a wise ass. That wasn’t my mother; it was my housekeeper,” Ramses lied. In truth Estelle was his wife and best kept secret, since very few people other than Pharaoh knew that he was married. Ramses didn’t hide Estelle because he was embarrassed. In fact, he loved her more than anything, which was why he kept her hidden away. In the game he played love was a liability that your enemies could use against you. “So what happened with that thing I had you look into?”

  King Tut shook his head sadly. “Your suspicions were right about our boy George double dipping. He’s sucking Clark dick, but it’s worse than that.”

  “Well don’t keep an asshole in suspense, spit it out, li’l nigga,” Ramses demanded.

  “Not only was George in bed with the Clarks, but he was also the one behind whacking Petey,” King Tut told him.

  Ramses’s eyes got as big as saucers. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m more than sure. I got proof.” Tut pulled out the small recorder and pressed play.

  The first voice Ramses heard was Tut’s: “I always took you for a stand-up dude, but that’s some real bitch shit. To top it off, you dropped a body on Ramses’s streets without getting the nod. You’re out of pocket, old man.”

  The next voice was unmistakably George’s: “This thing that’s brewing between Pharaoh and the Clarks ain’t got nothing to do with me. I’m just out here trying to make a dollar and they came with a better offer. Ramses of all people should be able to understand that. This wasn’t personal; it was all business.”

  Ramses sat there with a stunned expression on his face. He had known George for a long time, long enough to even consider him a friend. George had always been a sneaky son of a bitch, but killing wasn’t in his character. He figured he knew George pretty well, but listening to Tut’s recording told Ramses that he didn’t know George as well as he thought.
“Dirty muthafucka!”

  “That’s the same shit I said, boss. I thought George was an okay dude until all this shit,” Tut said, faking sadness at George’s betrayal.

  “Did you whack that piece of shit?” Ramses asked.

  “Nah, I maimed him a bit but I didn’t want to take his life without getting your okay first. I know you two have history,” Tut said.

  “Our history ain’t got nothing to do with the future. I want that chicken frying sack of shit dead,” Ramses declared.

  “I’ll get right on it,” Tut promised.

  “No, this kill will go to Felix and his people. It should make them feel better getting to snuff the life of the man who was behind Poppito’s nephew’s death.”

  “You’re a brilliant man, Ramses.” Tut smiled.

  “You better damn well know it. Nobody can pull a fast one on me,” Ramses spat.

  Tut had to keep his laughter bottled in after the statement. Ramses thought he was so smart, but Omega proved to be smarter. It was his idea to record the confrontation with George then doctor the tape to make it appear that he was also behind Petey’s murder. Tut didn’t think Ramses would go for it, but thankfully he did. Once George was dead, King Tut and Omega would be in the clear.

  “What’s up with Omega?” Ramses asked, as if he was reading Tut’s mind.

  “Ah, I dunno. I haven’t seen him today. You want me to track him down?”

  “No, just curious. How’s he been acting lately?”

  Tut shrugged. “Same old Omega, out here chasing this paper.”

  “You and Omega been getting pretty tight lately, huh?”

  “Yeah, that’s my dawg,” Tut said proudly.

  “Glad to hear it, because you two may find yourselves spending a lot more time together. I need solid young soldiers out here holding down the fort in prime areas of operations, especially Lenox and Seventh,” Ramses told him.

  This surprised Tut. “But Omega and Li’l Monk run those areas.”

  “Whoever I say runs those areas is who runs those areas,” Ramses corrected him.

  “So you saying Li’l Monk is out?” Tut asked excitedly.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, King Tut. Li’l Monk is still a part of this organization and therefore family, unless I say different. All I need to know is that if your number is called do you have the balls to step up?”

  “Fo sho, Ramses. Anything you need, say the word and I got you,” Tut said eagerly.

  “That’s good to know. For the time being you just keep your eyes open and your ears to the streets. Anything comes up, you bring it to me directly,” Ramses told him.

  Their conversation was broken up when a white Rolls-Royce coasted to a stop in front of Ramses’s brownstone. The windows were too heavily tinted to see who was inside, but Ramses knew who it was.

  “I gotta go handle something right quick.” Ramses got up from the steps.

  “Is that Pharaoh? Man, I’d love to meet that dude.” Tut made to approach the car, but Ramses grabbed him by the back of his neck.

  “Didn’t I just get done telling you not to get ahead of yourself?” Ramses snarled.

  “Chill out, Ramses. I was just trying to pay my respects,” Tut said in a nervous tone.

  “You get to praise the Pharaoh when I say it’s time and not a minute before. Until then, you stay in a child’s place and do what the fuck I told you.” Ramses shoved him away.

  “A’ight, you got that.” Tut smoothed his clothes over. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  King Tut stood there on the curb, watching Ramses as he stepped off the curb and got into the back of the Rolls. Normally he would’ve been upset about a man putting his hands on him and plotting revenge, even a man as important as Ramses, but not that day. For as much of a savage as Tut was he was also a very good observer and his visit with Ramses, coupled with the shifting pieces on the chessboard, confirmed what he already suspected: things were about to change within the organization. Now all he had to do was figure out how to use the unrest to his advantage.

  Pharaoh was lounging in the back of the plush vehicle, smoking a big cigar and sipping cognac from a crystal glass. Instead of his usual three-piece suit he was wearing a black blazer, white shirt, and blue jeans. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked, staring out the window at King Tut who was still standing on the curb.

  Ramses looked out the window. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he assured him.

  “Funny, you keep saying that but you have yet to make me a believer.” Pharaoh blew a cloud of smoke in the air. “There is an infestation of flies in my kingdom, yet instead of swatting them my right hand remains still.”

  “Pharaoh, you act like I’ve been out here sitting on my ass. In the last couple of weeks we’ve recruited twenty new soldiers and taken over some promising new territories. We’re fortifying the kingdom so when it goes down with the Clarks, we’ll be ready.”

  Pharaoh gave him a look. “I’m not talking about the Clarks. I’m talking about some unresolved issues that you’ve been sitting on for far too long. It doesn’t look good when people are allowed to spit in my face and aren’t disciplined properly. Why is that piece of shit Chucky still alive?”

  “Because we haven’t been able to track the slippery bastard down,” Ramses replied. “I ran into the girl he used to run around with, Persia, and I planned on having some of our people pay a call on her. I’m not going to let them hurt her, but if we put a good enough scare into her she’ll likely be able to tell us where to find that cocksucker.”

  “I already know where he is. Chucky is right here in New York, pissing on my head and telling me that it’s raining. And you know what? I didn’t have to pressure an innocent girl to find out!” Pharaoh said sharply.

  Ramses was stunned. “I had no idea.”

  “Exactly my point. You are supposed to be my eyes on the streets, but apparently your vision is getting piss poor. You need to handle that, Ramses, or I’ll turn to someone who can.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Ramses promised.

  “Like you took care of Li’l Monk?” Pharaoh asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Ramses lowered his eyes. “Pharaoh, I—”

  “Let me save you the trouble of trying to lie to me for the sake of buying time,” Pharaoh cut him off. “I understand how this particular situation can be difficult for you. You’ve developed a fondness for Li’l Monk, almost like a father and son bond. As a parent, I get it, truly I do, but it doesn’t change what has to be done.”

  “Pharaoh, we still don’t even know if it was Li’l Monk who was responsible for what happened to Mr. D,” Ramses pointed out.

  “You’re right, we don’t, but considering the evidence it’s not something I’m willing to bet my life on. Are you?”

  Ramses was silent.

  “I didn’t think so. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but when you weigh what we stand to lose by harboring him versus what we stand to gain by putting this kid in the dirt and making the Italians happy I think you’ll agree that Li’l Monk is expendable.”

  “I guess so,” Ramses said softly.

  “Don’t look so sad, Ramses. You seem to be fond of King Tut; you can make him your new adopted son,” Pharaoh said sarcastically.

  “Whatever, man. I’ll take care of it,” Ramses said with an attitude. He felt horrible about what Pharaoh was making him do, but he didn’t have a choice.

  “You’ve told me that once before, yet Li’l Monk still lives. So I’ve put the matter in more capable hands.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ramses asked.

  Pharaoh sat back and smiled. “You’ll find out when you read the morning paper.”

  CHAPTER 23

  After his father had gone Li’l Monk started making his way to his car. Sophie didn’t live too far away, but he didn’t feel like walking. The streets were hot and so was he.

  As he was walking he spotted a car riding down the block. It was an old-model Chevy Nova with a
rusted side panel. He wouldn’t have paid it any mind except that he noticed it was full of white faces. They were either police or some downtown crackers trolling the ghetto to score drugs. Either way Li’l Monk wanted no part of them. Li’l Monk stopped and twisted his face into a mask of anger and glared at the car. The white boys took the hint and sped off.

  “Junkie muthafuckas,” Li’l Monk grumbled and got into his Bonneville. Sunken low in his seat, Li’l Monk slowly coasted through the streets of Harlem. Driving always brought him a measure of peace. In the confines of his car there were no corner boys to dictate orders to, no Omega pestering him about money or bitches, and no junkies begging for a high. It was just him and the streets. He had just turned on his radio and was about to turn to the oldies station when his cell phone went off. With a frustrated sigh, he flipped it open and took the call.

  “Damn, nigga, where the fuck you been?” Omega’s voice came over the line.

  “I been in the hood; where the fuck you been? I ain’t seen you since I left Stacy’s.”

  “That’s because I was still there until about an hour ago,” Omega informed him.

  “What the fuck could you possibly have been doing over there for damn near twenty-four hours?” Li’l Monk asked.

  “What the fuck you think I was doing? After you left Stacy called over some of her dancer friends and we had an orgy that was out of this fucking world! I ain’t never had a bitch suck my dick from the back before until today!”

  “Sounds like you had a good time,” Li’l Monk said in an uninterested tone.

  “Would’ve been better if my dawg had been there. Why’d you break out like that without saying anything?”

  “I had some shit to do,” Li’l Monk said. He wanted to tell him about what had happened with Swann, but didn’t want to bring it up over the phone.