Goodfellas

by Carl Weber

  “Ain’t you supposed to be her shadow?” the driver asked East. “You a li’l too far away, if you ask me.”

  “Ain’t nobody ask you, though,” East countered.

  “Ricardo’ll kill your li’l ass if anything happens to her,” the driver chuckled, then blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke. Everybody knew how serious Ricardo was about Lauryn. She didn’t go anywhere without protection.

  “She deserves to grieve in private,” East responded.

  “Yeah, a’ight. I’m just saying—”

  “That’s your problem. You talk too fucking much. What you doing out of the car anyway?” East’s cold stare put an end to their conversation. The driver tossed his cigarette to the ground, circled the truck, and got behind the wheel. Despite his young age, East was well respected within the organization. He was like Tez’s son and a second son to Ricardo. Both men were equal partners. He leaned against the hood of the SUV and waited patiently for Lauryn to finish.

  There was a time when Lauryn felt like she had the world on a string. Her whole life was in front of her then. She had been so confident, so full of cheer. That seemed so long ago. She hadn’t even entered womanhood when her father died. She hadn’t known the rules. Now at twenty-five years old, she was no longer a bright-eyed teenage girl. She was well versed in the workings of the underworld. Her youthful innocence had been violently snatched away, leaving behind a woman hardened by grief and anger, nothing but collateral damage of the drug game. She rested her head against the headstone and whispered to her father, words only meant for his ears.

  Until then, the sky had been perfect, but it was quickly changing. Miami weather was funny like that. The beautiful blue shade was turning into a hard grey. Large pillows of cloud beginning to form blocked out the sun. A gust of wind blew, stirring the trees; then Lauryn heard a pitter-patter as the first pearls of rain dropped on the leaves. The rainfall suddenly became more intense, mixing with the trail of tears streaming down her face. She laid the rose in her hand on top of the headstone, then walked away. East raced over, meeting her more than halfway, providing her shelter from the rain underneath an umbrella. The drops were drumming against the ground nonstop as they made it to her car. East reached out, opening the door for her and helping her in. Once she was safely inside, he slammed the door shut behind her, closed the umbrella, and got into the front passenger seat of the black Lincoln Navigator.

  Lauryn sat in the back composing herself, wiping away the remaining tears while looking at her reflection in a compact mirror. Her beautiful face hid the hurt well behind designer labels and foreign cars. She forged a smile as her eyes met East’s, and he told the driver to start the engine. Suddenly, the sun came out again, casting slanted beams of light across the cemetery. Steam rose slowly from the grass. It rose up eerily and drifted mistlike toward the golden sun. The image was so vivid that it stayed with Lauryn for the rest of the day. She took it as a sign that things would get better. “After the rain, the sun will shine again,” she mumbled to herself.

  “Huh?” East asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

  “Nothing,” she quickly dismissed. “We can go now,” she instructed. After visiting her father’s grave, there was only one thing in the world that could brighten Lauryn’s spirits. A little retail therapy.

  * * *

  For East, pulling up to Ricardo’s new home felt like he was in another world. Palm Island was only a fifteen-minute drive from where he grew up in Liberty City, but despite the short distance, the places couldn’t have been farther apart. The exclusive waterfront neighborhood was home to the stars. There was lush landscaping throughout the entire island and beautiful water features that connect the properties to their natural environment fronting Biscayne Bay. Ricardo had recently purchased a 6,800-square foot, island-style home with a pool and boat dock attached at the rear.

  Arriving through the gate, the circular courtyard had stone pavers, grouted with lawn and a fountain in the middle, creating a striking scenery. A few foreign vehicles adorned the driveway, along with tinted out SUVs. Two large palm trees stood like pillars near the front of the mansion, adding to the appeal of the property. Ricardo, Tez, and Dos stood out front engaged in a conversation. To East, it felt like a scene out of a movie. He got out of the truck and opened the back door for Lauryn.

  “Thank you,” she said in a sweet tone as he helped her out of the car. She smiled, but her eyes didn’t. There was so much pain laying behind her exterior, right there in the windows to her soul.

  “You all right?” East inquired. His nature wouldn’t let him ignore what he saw.

  “I’ll be fine, East. Thanks for asking,” she replied in a somber tone. It was rare that any of her husband’s workers said a word to her. Most were afraid to even make eye contact with the boss’s new, young wife. Not East. He always said, “Good morning” or “Good night” and acknowledged her when she passed. Lauryn appreciated his humbleness and enjoyed his presence when he accompanied her places. Ricardo’s other workers were like robots in suits. East had a youthful innocence that hadn’t been hardened by the world yet. She admired it, but at the same time, was a bit envious, recalling when she saw the world like he did. Lauryn spotted Ricardo’s observant eyes on her. She cut her eyes evilly at her husband and quickly walked in the house. East retrieved the bags from her shopping spree and followed her into the mansion.

  “Wifey look pissed. Whatchu do now?” Tez questioned.

  Ricardo shrugged, barely acknowledged her behavior, and refused to entertain the conversation. He knew Lauryn was spoiled and because of that, she wasn’t going anywhere. Not in a million years. She always returned from her father’s grave site with a cloud of sadness surrounding her. It was nothing a shopping spree or expensive gifts couldn’t clear up. The two continued to talk and walk, leaving Dos behind.

  “Look at you, nigga,” Dos laughed as East appeared from the front door. “You look like the Secret Service,” he quipped, brushing imaginary lint from East’s suit. “When you gonna stop with all that Alfred shit,” referring to the character famous for being Batman’s butler, “and come get some real money with ya boy?” Dos was draped up and dripped out. Gucci down with a big Cuban link chain hanging from his neck and diamonds in his ear. He was getting street money, and it showed.

  East ignored the jab. That was Dos. Always talking big, always bragging. The two were polar opposites, but they were friends. East moved at his own pace. He knew his time would come to get in the game, but like everything else he did, he was being strategic. “I see you, playboy,” East replied, dapping him up.

  “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m hungry as shit,” Dos said, walking over to his brand-new Mercedes S-Class Coupe, a graduation gift from his father.

  “Bet.”

  “Yo, you really need to step ya car game up,” Dos declared. The difference between the two could be seen in the cars they drove. While Dos preferred luxury and the status that came with the Benz, East drove an old school.

  “This a classic,” East reminded him, then slammed his door.

  Ricardo and Tez watched the two of them drive away like proud fathers. “Eastwood been doing a good job keeping Lauryn safe, but I think it’s time for a promotion,” Ricardo stated. He, like everyone else, saw the potential in East and thought it was time for him to get on the front line.

  “I don’t think he ready yet,” Tez replied.

  “Fuck you mean he not ready?” Ricardo shot back. “He more ready than any of these li’l niggas.”

  “I don’t know,” Tez shrugged.

  Ricardo eyed him with suspicion. “You act like you his daddy,” he said. Tez had become a little too attached to East. He was being overprotective. “You killed his daddy. You ain’t his daddy,” Ricardo reminded him.

  “I did that for you.” Tez gritted his teeth.

  “And?” Ricardo remained indifferent. “If you got issues, you need to see a therapist. Otherwise, get over that shit. ’Cause I ain’t a ther
apist, and I ain’t running a day care. I’m in the drug business, and I got thorough young niggas on our team. I breed ’em that way. I’ve bred them to be loyal. And I’m gonna put them to work, all of them. Shit, these houses and cars ain’t gonna pay for themselves.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Tez replied. When shit hits the fan, it would be him on the front line, not Ricardo. Tez knew in his heart East was ready. He was more ready than even Ricardo knew. He just wanted to protect him from the life and keep him away from the game as long as he could. Tez had been in the streets long enough to know that it changes people. Some in worse ways than others. He witnessed it firsthand. He had killed plenty of men, including East’s father, many on the word of Ricardo, and their ghosts haunted him, especially Derek Eastwood’s. He had gotten used to not sleeping peacefully at night. He was a hustler, but he was also a killer, and killers killed. It was what he had signed up for once he took his first life. Maybe he had gotten too attached to East, but so what? He loved him. Tez had seen and done so much, he didn’t wish his life on anyone—certainly not East.

  “What the fuck that mean?” Ricardo barked.

  “Forget it,” Tez answered.

  “Nah, say what’s on ya mind. You feeling a way?” Ricardo could read Tez’s eyes. He didn’t like the fact that his authority was being questioned.

  “I just don’t think East is ready, that’s all,” Tez repeated.

  “He ready ’cause I said he ready,” Ricardo asserted with a finality that ended the conversation.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you got your cousin hustlin’ with you,” East said surprisingly after hearing Dos’s story. He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. He and Dos were enjoying breakfast in the middle of the day at IHOP. “You crazy. That li’l nigga gonna get you locked up or killed. Plus, I don’t trust his ass. His eyes be looking all beady and shit.”

  “He’s my family. I trust him,” Dos said.

  “Good luck with that,” East replied.

  Dos shrugged nonchalantly and continued eating his pancakes. “It should be me and you, bro, but you bullshittin’. So, it is what it is,” he replied calmly.

  At that moment the waitress arrived at their table. “How’s the food? Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

  East calmly looked up and was pleasantly surprised. “Jasmine?”

  “Hey, East. What’s up?” she replied cheerfully with a strong New York accent.

  He had arrived after Dos, who had ordered for him, so he hadn’t seen the waitress yet. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he said.

  “Part time,” she replied with a smile. “I bartend at a club at night too.”

  “I see. I’m gonna have to start coming here a li’l more,” Dos interrupted with a smile. East shot him a look, but he either didn’t catch it or ignored it. He had been flirting with Jasmine since he arrived. She was gorgeous. She had a flawless mocha skin tone with full, pouty lips and deep-dish dimples. Her ass still looked round and curvy despite the loose-fitting uniform she wore. Dos had to have her.

  “Anyway, it’s good to see you again, East.” She smiled hard.

  “You too,” he replied.

  Dos felt like a third wheel in their energy. Still, he couldn’t stop staring at her ass as she walked away. “You know her?” he whispered. “I know you fuckin’ that bitch,” he said but secretly was hoping East said no.

  “Nah, it ain’t like that. I used to holla at her friend. Tell you the truth, I didn’t know she was back in town. Last I heard, she moved back to New York or some shit,” East explained.

  “Put me on, nigga. I always wanted to fuck a bitch from New York, son,” he imitated a New Yorker’s accent.

  East chuckled. “Put yourself on, B,” he mocked, downing his orange juice.

  Dos smirked. He suddenly got up and walked across the restaurant toward Jasmine, who was in the midst of taking down another table’s orders. When she turned around, she was startled at his presence in her face.

  “Excuse you,” she sassed.

  “You should let me take you out,” Dos proclaimed with a handsome smile.

  “And why would I do that?” she rolled her eyes and walked around him.

  Dos followed behind her. “Why wouldn’t you?” he countered.

  “Dos, please,” she replied and rolled her eyes again.

  “Oh, so you know a nigga’s name.”

  “Boy, who don’t know your name . . . with your ho ass,” Jasmine stated and walked into the kitchen. Dos followed. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking around in a panic and laughed nervously. “You can’t be in here.”

  “First of all, I go wherever I want. Second, I ain’t a ho. I just ain’t found nothing worth giving my undivided attention to. Until now,” he said seriously.

  “Excuse me, young man. You’re not supposed to be in here,” the manager walked in and said.

  Dos ignored her. “You gonna let me take you out?” he asked Jasmine.

  “Young man,” the manager said again, this time more aggressively.

  “C’mon, at least give me your number.”

  “Ms. Pollard, please let your friend know that if he doesn’t leave now, I will fire you!” the manager scolded.

  “C’mon, Dos, go,” Jasmine pleaded with him.

  “Nope. I’m not leaving until you either give me your number or agree to go out with me,” he poked out his lips and pouted like a little child.

  Jasmine giggled. She knew what kind of person Dos was, but he was sexy and charming. She was feeling him, and word was, his dick game was crazy.

  “OK, take my number.” She couldn’t contain her smile.

  “What is it?” he said, pulling out his phone.

  She gave him the number.

  Dos smiled as he typed the numbers in his phone. “I’ma call you later, a’ight?”

  “Yes. Now go before you get me fired,” she said, pushing him out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Seven

  It was after midnight when Ricardo Wheeler decided to summon East to meet with him. After entering the office of his boxing gym, Ricardo sat behind a desk preparing to make the call. The walls of the office were covered with old fight posters, Sonny Liston versus Cassius Clay, Durán versus Leonard, to name a few. Ricardo picked up his cell phone and dialed. He had no contacts stored, just a knack for remembering numbers. He would have called from the office phone, except it was tapped. So was the other line in the gym. He knew it but kept them that way to mislead cops and any other unwanted listeners.

  Across town, inside his bedroom, East lay awake in the bed with a cloud of weed smoke dancing above him. The only light in the room came from the TV. A rerun episode of Martin was playing, but he wasn’t paying it any mind. Suddenly, his phone rang on the nightstand, grabbing his attention. He ashed the weed. “What’s up?” he said answering on the third ring.

  “Eastwood.” Ricardo was still the only person that had ever called East by his whole last name, so instantly he knew who the voice on the phone belonged to. “I need to see you.”

  “Can it wait?” East asked, uninterested in getting out of his bed. It had already been a long day having to run around with Lauryn.

  “Nah, it can’t. I need to see you right now,” Ricardo’s tone was serious and firm. “It’s important. My guys are waiting outside for you,” he declared.

  East sat up in the bed. It was almost one in the morning.

  What is so important that Ricardo sent his men to my apartment? he thought to himself. Something didn’t feel right. He got out of the bed and went into the living room with his gun in his hand. East walked over to the window and looked outside. He spotted Ricardo’s men exactly where he said they would be. In front of his apartment, standing in front of two black Mercedes.

  “You still there?” Ricardo broke the long pause.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” East answered in a low voice. “You wanna give me a heads-up on what’s this about?”

  �
�Nah. You’ll find out when you get here,” Ricardo replied with finality. Then the line went dead.

  East let the phone linger by his ear for a moment before he lowered it. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was happening. All he knew was something wasn’t right. He was caught off guard by the phone call and the tone of the conversation. Ricardo had always preferred to avoid the phone altogether. He usually handed down orders two men deep, to ensure that nothing could be traced back to him. He was old school, but the fact that he had made the call himself had East’s mind racing. He got dressed in a hurry and went outside where Ricardo’s stone-faced goons awaited him. An awkward silence came over them as he approached. Before he could get closer, they halted his progress by surrounding him. One of the henchmen stepped forward and patted him down, removing the gun from underneath his hoodie.

  “I’m gonna hold on to this,” he said, tucking East’s gun into his own waist.

  “What’s going on?” East asked, but the henchmen didn’t respond before making him get in one of the cars. East remained calm as he rode in the backseat next to one of the goons. He didn’t say a word. Peering out the back window, he could see the other car, filled with more of Ricardo’s men, following them as well. He had no idea what was going on, but if they were trying to scare him, it wasn’t working. He didn’t scare easily.