by K'wan
“James,” Poppa said, shaking his hand. “How you been?”
“I’ve been good, Poppa. Just trying to perfect my game and raise my kids.”
“Good man. So, how's the career going?”
“It's been up and down, Poppa. Even tried my hand overseas. My latest paycheck is coming from the DBL.”
“Don’t fret, James. I’m sure you’ll get called up soon enough.”
“Well, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. I need a favor, Poppa.”
“Here we go again.” Poppa sighed. “It seems like that's the only time I see you, James.”
“Poppa, it ain’t like that.”
“Don’t bullshit me, James. You remember the last time you came to me for a favor?”
“Yes, Poppa.” Sometime prior James had gotten into trouble at the university. A girl on campus had accused James and some of his friends of sexual assault. James had come to Poppa in tears talking about how he was being framed. Poppa felt sorry for the young man so he pulled some strings for him and made the problem go away. Turns out that James was fucking the girl. The real slap in the face was nine months later when the girl had James's baby.
“James,” Poppa said. “I ain’t doing shit for you.”
“Poppa, I know I fucked up at school and all, but I’ve been trying to get my life together. I swear to you. I just need you to do me one last favor.”
“What is it?”
“It's like this: I get a call to come and try out for the Knicks not so long ago. The coach and the rest of the front office loves me, but the GM wants to be a hard-ass about it. It's like the fucking guy hates me.”
“What did you do to make him hate you, James?” Poppa asked, knowing there was more to it.
“Okay, Poppa. While I’m up here for the tryouts, I meet this girl at a hotel. Fine lil’ white chick. Ya know? Anyhow, we’re at the bar drinking and she wants to take the party back to her room. So I say fuck it. To make a long story short, I bang this broad and find out after the fact that she's the GM's niece.”
“You still ain’t learned, huh?”
“Poppa, you got me all wrong. Once I found out who this chick was I backed off. The only thing is, she got offended. Told her uncle that I took advantage of her. This might be my last shot, Poppa,” James pleaded.
Poppa had intended to tell James to go and fuck hisself, but as he listened to the story he started to feel sorry for James. He wasn’t a bad kid; James just didn’t make good choices. Couldn’t fault the boy for being stupid. Poppa gave a last look at James and his big heart got the best of him.
“Okay,” Poppa said, lighting a cigar, “I’m probably the biggest asshole to ever step off of a boat, but I’m gonna give you a play. I’ll see if I can have someone speak with this man. This GM.”
“Thank you, Poppa,” James said, reaching to hug him.
“Save your thanks,” Poppa said, holding him at arm's length. “I haven’t promised you anything. I only said that I would try. I want you to understand something though. If I do what you’ve asked of me, then you will return the favor?”
“Of course, Poppa.”
“Okay, James. Go on out back and join the party.” James made to leave, but Poppa stopped him short. “One more thing, James. If you cross me, I’m going to have you killed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Poppa,” said James timidly. He smiled at Poppa and made his way to the backyard. As he crossed the vast receiving area, he felt his legs trying to give out. There was no doubt in his mind that Poppa would make good on his threat.
Tommy came into the room just as James was leaving. Poppa waved him over to where he was standing. Tommy had hoped to avoid Poppa for as long as he could. He hadn’t gotten around to telling Poppa what happened with Freddy. He knew Poppa was going to flip about how he handled it, so he wanted to wait until after the party.
“You just getting back from the City?” Poppa asked.
“Yes, sir,” Tommy said.
“So what took you so long?”
“Had a little situation, sir.”
“Situation?” Poppa asked. “Everything cool?”
“Yeah, I got this,” Tommy lied.
Poppa could tell by the look on his firstborn's face that he was holding something back. “Give it to me straight,” Poppa demanded.
“I had some trouble at the club earlier. I kinda pistol-whipped Freddy Deluca.”
“You did what?” Poppa said, grabbing Tommy by the collar. “Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to give them white folks a reason to kill you.”
“Wasn’t my fault,” Tommy pleaded. “Freddy came into our spot disrespecting me.”
“You kids kill me,” Poppa said. “Always using respect or lack of it as a reason to resort to violence.”
“Pop, it ain’t like this cat is a made guy. He works for Fat Mike.”
“Made or not he's still connected. Tommy, if you’re gonna run this thing, you gotta learn to use your fucking head. You wanna go back to them Spanish niggaz uptown, wit’ ya tail between ya legs to buy theirs? You still haven’t secured a definite heroin connection and you’re pissing on the one you have. If his boss takes what you did as a slight, then this could really jam us up.” Poppa let Tommy go, but he was still glaring viciously at him.
“I’m sorry Poppa,” Tommy said, easing out of arm's reach. “I fucked up.”
“Damn right you did. Tommy, you could’ve gotten yourself killed behind this dumb shit. Then where does that leave me? I’ll tell you. Doing life in somebody's prison. ‘Cause God knows if them Italians lay hands on my family, I’m gonna personally kill them mutha fuckas.”
“Fuck it, Poppa. If the dagos want a war, then they can get one. We’ll blow those bastards back to the boot.”
“Tommy, do me a favor and shut up for a minute. You need to use your head sometimes. A war with the Italians is the last thing we want right now. We got guns and soldiers, but we don’t need the heat. In addition to the thing that you’re working on with the Wongs we got something else on the ball. This is big, Tommy, Regardless of what happens, I’m out of the game soon. If you choose to keep this thing here going, you’re more than welcome to the headache.”
“So, what you guys got cooking up, Pop?”
“Don’t worry about it. Tommy. You just worry about this little obstacle in front of you. You could either make this right with Mike or try and seal the deal with the Wongs. Now go get dressed. We got people waiting on us.”
Poppa headed back to the party leaving Tommy to his own thoughts. Tommy was fucked with no Vaseline. After what had gone down at Shakers there was no way he was crawling back to the Italians. His best bet was to make the deal with the Wongs. If Mike had a problem, then so be it. All Tommy could do was to be ready if it came.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Sol asked, taking a slow sip of his cognac.
“Do what?” Bill responded.
“You know what the hell I’m talking about, Bill. You know how Poppa feels about Shai, so why even put that out there?”
“Hey,” Bill said, pointing a finger at So!, “I’m trying to protect my investments here. Poppa and me been doing business for a while now. Not as long as you guys, but long enough. I make a lot of money through Poppa, and I like it that way. I love Tommy like family, but I don’t wanna depend on him to eat. He's good at what he does, I can’t take that from him, but the kid is too damn wild.”
“Bill, this is Poppa's choice,” Sol said. “I’m not comfortable with it just yet, but I don’t have a choice. This is Tom's thing and he's gonna run it the way he sees fit.”
“I’d still bet my money on Shai,” Bill said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “He's a good kid, and the soldiers respect him.”
“Bill, you must not be hearing me,” Sol said, setting his drink down. “Poppa Clark would never go for it. He's the captain of the ship and we ain’t gonna rock the boat. Get me?”
“Yeah, Sol. I get you.” Bill nodded his head in agreement, but he h
ad his own agenda. He didn’t have anything against Tommy, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable with him taking over the streets. Poppa kept all the crews in line with diplomacy; Tommy would do it with pistols. It was only a matter of time before the feds or one of the other crews took Tommy down. Poppa had worked too hard to build his empire to have it squandered away by his hotheaded son. It would break Bill's heart if something happened to Tommy and it would break his pocket if he couldn’t get his tribute from their drug profits.
Harry came out of the liquor store sipping on the bottle Amine had purchased. The youngster was throwing money away and running his mouth to anyone that would listen. Harry was sure to find a way to use it to his benefit sooner or later. He cracked his bottle open and took a swig. No sooner than he took a gulp, a shit-brown Buick screeched to a halt in front of him. At first Harry thought it was the police, but he wasn’t so sure when he saw the black man and the Puerto Rican coming in his direction. He breathed a sigh of relief when the Puerto Rican pulled out his badge.
“Fuck y’all want?” Harry asked, trying to sound tough. “Pressing me behind some drink. That ain’t nothing but a ticket.”
“Ticket,” Alvarez said, taking a sip of the liquor. “Nah, you got it all fucked up. We ain’t here to write no tickets, son.”
“Fuck kinda cops are you?” Harry asked in shock.
“The worst kind,” Brown said, grabbing Harry by the neck. “I’ll personally put two in ya slimy ass and say that you resisted arrest.”
“What y’all want?” Harry asked.
“Info, player,” Alvarez said evenly.
“I don’t know anything!” Harry pleaded.
“Oh, you’re a wiseass?” Brown asked. Before Harry could respond, Brown tossed him headfirst into the rear door of the car. “Look,” Brown said, scooping him up. “This is the deal, yo. You’re gonna stop playing with us and start talking.”
“All we wanna know is where to find Legs or Amine,” Alvarez cut in.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Harry lied.
“See,” Brown said as he unholstered his nine, “this is that bullshit. I’m gonna shoot this mutha fucka.”
“Easy, partner,” Alvarez said, knowing that what Brown said wasn’t a threat. “Let's just take the lil’ nigga for a ride. We’ll see if we can get him talking down by the Hudson.”
As Brown and Alvarez grabbed Harry and forced him into the backseat of the Buick, he didn’t feel so tough anymore. Harry knew that the information he was withholding wasn’t worth what they were going to do to him.
CHAPTER 6
TOMMY HAD ARRIVED at the party a while ago, but he was acting strange. The whole time he just sat by the pond chainsmoking and talking on his cell. This was very unlike him. Shai was about to inquire about Tommy's mood when Butch tapped him on the shoulder.
“Poppa wants to see you in the conference room,” Butch whispered.
Shai gave Tommy one last glance before following Butch to the manor house. As he crossed the lawn, he noticed that certain people had disappeared. Sol, along with a few others, had made a discreet exit. There was something going on and Shai had a feeling that he was about to find out.
He walked into the circular room that served as Poppa's council chamber. There was a round table in the center of the room and a wide-screen television. Other than that, there was no real furniture to speak of. This room wasn’t decked out like the rest of the house. The conference room was strictly for business.
As Shai walked in, he felt a little uneasy. Assembled around the table were some very big fish, on the criminal as well as legitimate levels. Poppa motioned for Shai to come and take the empty seat on his left. Tommy had come in and occupied the one to the right.
“Come on in, Shai,” Poppa said. Shai nodded and took the seat next to his father. “Shai, I called you in here because some very big things are in the works. Things that will not only affect members of this family, but our communities as a whole. Let me introduce you to some people. You already know Sol and Scotty here,” Poppa said, motioning to Lansky and a brown-skinned man wearing a dark blue suit. “That’d be a waste of my breath, so I’ll move on.”
Shai knew the man called Scotty all right. Martin Scott, known as Scotty to his friends, was a defense attorney from across the water. He and Poppa went back to the eighties, when Scotty was selling drugs to grind up enough money to pay for his education. Poppa let Scotty hang around and do odd jobs for him. Poppa saw that the youngster had too much potential to toss it away chasing a dollar. When it came time for Scotty to go off to school, Poppa fronted him the money. When Scotty finally finished law school and tried to pay Poppa back, he wouldn’t accept the money. Poppa called it an investment. Scotty did legal work for Poppa off and on, but he was still allowed to open his own practice. Not bad for a little black kid from the projects.
“This gentleman to your right”—Poppa nodded toward a balding white man—”is Antonio Bratsi. Bratsi is our friend from out of Atlantic City.” —
“How ya doing, kid?” Bratsi nodded.
“Next to Bratsi,” Poppa continued, “is Phil Greene. Phil is one of the men responsible for building our estate. He owns several contracting companies and is also the head of one of the few minority unions on the East Coast.”
“What's going on, Shai?” the fifty-something black man asked.
“Shai,” Poppa said, “what is said in this room is to stay in this room. Understand?” Shai nodded in agreement. “Good. Well, gen
tlemen, let's get to it. We all came in here today for the same reason.Through our combined resources we have the opportunity to be
come billionaires.”
“Sounds good, Tom,” Phil said. “I got a general idea of what's going down from the proposal that Scotty submitted, but what’re we really trying to do?”
“Well, as you all know, the gambling rackets bring in billions of dollars on a yearly basis. That's not even including the backdoor games that go on all over the world. In Nevada, the people who own those places are making a killing. Even over in AC people are catching the itch. The place Tony runs is one of the smaller ones and that still checks at least a few mil’ in a good month.”
“Poppa,” Phil said, “that's all fine and good, but what's that got to do with us? Tony's the only one with ties to the casino rackets and he's not even an owner.”
“My point exactly. If the Italians can profit the way that they are off of the casinos, then why can’t we?”
“My friend is right,” Sol cut in. “The old ways are dying out. We’ve all fought long and hard to get where we are, but we deserve more. Tony, you’ve been in the casino rackets since the old days. Do you think that it's fair to say that you deserve a piece for yourself?”
“Of course, Sol,” Bratsi said. “I busted my hump for over thirty- something years dredging around in Vegas for those guys. Things get a little rocky, and the little guys get pushed out. Hey,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “I got no hard feelings. I just feel that my services were never totally appreciated. I would love to have my own, but I don’t have the finances to make it happen.”
“And that's where we come in,” Poppa picked up. “If we pool our collective resources, we could make this thing work. Sol and I will front the majority of the cost, ‘cause it's our baby, but you gents will have to play your parts. In return, you’ll be given shares of the joint.”
“What do you need from us, Tom?” Phil asked.
“That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.” Sol smiled. “Each one of us has a purpose in the grand scheme of things. For instance, our friend Tony has a connect that can get us a gaming license.The man he's chosen is an average Joe, but the important thing is that he's clean. No record or anything. Tony will run the day-to-day operations, but the license will be in his connect's name. Besides that, Tony knows the casino layout and the area. Phil, we’ll use your people for the construction. It’ll open up more jobs for your guys, making you more popular
than you already are. Not bad in an election year. Besides, we’d feel more comfortable keeping it in the family, so to speak. If all goes well, we’ll be up and running in less than a year.”
“Less than a year?” Phil asked in disbelief. “Building a casino is no easy task.”
“But that's the beauty of it all,” Sol continued. “There's a certain hotel out that way that's bumped into some unexpected financial problems. They have graciously offered to sell us the place at a discount. The first payment has already been submitted for Clark Lansky, to take over the property. The beauty of it all is that there's a few acres of vacant land with some warehouses sitting on ‘em that are just collecting dust. Some of our dummy companies have already started buying up the surrounding turf.”
“So,” Phil said, “that brings us back to the initial question. What makes us so special that you wanna cut us in?”
“It's like this, Phil,” Sol explained. “This is a big venture. Poppa and me can’t just walk in there and drop that kinda bread on a spot. Even though we both have very successful businesses we still couldn’t account for that kind of money. It would bring too much heat on us. Now if we were to take on some partners, we could pull it off.”
“I can’t speak for Tony, but I don’t have that kind of money.” Phil shrugged.
“Phil,” Poppa said, getting frustrated, “I think you’re missing the point. We’re not asking you to put up no dough. You would be a co- owner, in name only. It would really belong to me and Sol. Minus your small percent for the trouble.”
“That's all well and good,” Phil said, “but what's the upside, besides a phony title?”
“First of all,” Poppa said, sounding a little annoyed, “it's not like you’re doing it for free, Phil. Of course we’ll be paying your guys top dollar for the work. Not only that, but that will boost your clientele something fierce. Instead of throwing stones at the plan, embrace the beauty of it. We don’t really need you to make it work, Phil. But I would love to have you aboard.”