“You betta recognize, grandpa, you jumped in line ahead of us,” the yella kid with bad acne replied. Monster P, huge and grinning, circled to his left. Cravitz noted that Monster wore his new $100 Lebron James sneakers untied.
“Well, bitch, you gonna move out th’ way? Or do we need to move you?” the pimply faced boy said.
“You from the Floorboards?” Cravitz said.
“Hey, sucka, you mean the Flo Boyz.”
Normally, a slap across the lips was his remedy for obstreperous brats. The challenge of his birthday vow, however, posed a dilemma for Cravitz.
Cravitz was pondering this when he heard, “Drop the weapon, Twinkletoes.”
It was the voice of his childhood hero, Ramon Yippie Calzone. Cravitz turned to see Yippie with Esmeralda in his hand.
Monster P held his shotgun limply, then let it slide to the ground.
“I’m saving your lives,” Yippie Calzone told them. He pointed to Cravitz. “That young brother there is one of the killin’est
“Gospel,” Cravitz said.
The young men gawked at Esmeralda.
“We won’t kill you this time, boys,” Cravitz said. “But grown folks gotta talk now.” Cravitz gave Aleta a twenty and said, “Help my friends. I ain’t in a hurry.”
Yippie turned to Cravitz and whispered, “We gotta talk.”
The men met in a quiet booth in Satin Dolls.
“I saw something when I arrived at the Chateau Rouge this morning-someone,” Yippie Calzone said.
“Someone?”
“A woman. A bad woman.”
“Well?”
“I can’t tell you much. Shouldn’t be telling you this. But this
“And she’s here to…?”
“Not sure. Her operation is in Nevada. She’s helping her man Paco Santiago make Vegas the new drug hub,” Yippie Calzone said. “If she’s here, your brother is involved. I didn’t see them together; but I’m sure she’s staying here. She had on a mask, but I recognized her. I don’t think she saw me.”
“Cash has been legit since ’92.”
“He ain’t.” Calzone opened his briefcase and pulled out a small plastic baggie filled with a few teaspoons of yellow powder. He handed it to Cravitz. “The new teen poison.”
The dope had a faint lemon scent.
“It’s treated opium. It’s been cut with strychnine and baking soda and some other trash. The high’s killer,” Yippie said grimly.
“How’s it get this weird color?”
“Food coloring,” Yippie said. “They call it butter.”
“Shit,” Cravitz said.
“
“You’re giving me classified information.”
“It’s a final gift, birthday boy. I’m settling all my accounts.” Yippie Calzone was not smiling now. “You helped me. Cash helped me. Now I’m helping you. I’m sure this chick brought some of this dope with her. Cash might not know what he’s in for.”
Yippie promised to give Cravitz seventy-two hours to find the dope and get it out of the Chateau Rouge before he dropped a dime to Vargas.
“That’s it,” Yippie said finally, standing. “I’ve bent the shit outta the law for you, my brother. Now I’m gonna disappear.”
Yippie Calzone left.
“Hey, Quick!” a familiar voice said.
He turned to face Hi-C, his brother’s personal bodyguard, striding toward him. Hi-C was 7’2” without an ounce of fat. He was dressed in the livery of a Chateau Rouge bouncer: red satin top hat, red satin bowtie, sleeveless red satin shirt, red satin slacks, red satin cummerbund, red patent leather boots. C also wore a black satin mask.
To Cravitz he looked like a masked pillar of fire.
C said, “I been lookin’ fo’ ya all ovah, Quick. Mista Omar say f’you t’meet him in the conf’ence room. He wont me t’fetch ya.”
One did not argue with a pillar of fire.
The penthouse conference room was located on the tenth floor. Its wall-length windows looked out over King Boulevard, framing the pale blue sky and the San Gabriels thirty miles north.
Cash was seated at the head of the long table, dressed like an eighteenth-century pirate. A black satin mask covered his eyes.
Seated in chairs on the table’s other end were a woman and a man, both wearing black masks. The man was dressed all in white with a visor cap, like a 1940s Good Humor man. The woman was Cleopatra-a brass serpent coiled about her paste tiara.
“You remember my road dog, Ernie Jackson?” Cash began with a grin.
“Oh yeah, Bingbong. W’sup?” Cravitz said, with a slight nod.
The woman stood up and slowly walked around the table toward him. She was statuesque, voluptuous. Behind that satin mask, Cravitz could see her eyes flashing with golden fire. Her face was framed with braids that fell below her shoulders.
She held out her hand. Cravitz fought off the urge to gobble her whole.
“Bennita Bangs,” she said simply.
Cravitz took her hand, feeling an electric thrill surge through his bones.
He wondered whether a woman that fine could be a thug and a killer and what it would be like to nibble her honeyed skin.
“Bingbong-I mean,
Cravitz was still not listening. He was trying his best to crawl into those topaz bedrooms Miss Bangs used for eyes.
“My fiance is a fox, ain’t she, Quick?” Bingbong Jackson said uneasily.
Cravitz cast a killing gaze at the hustler. “What’s all this good luck gonna cost me?”
“We need to raise two million, Mr.-” Bennita began demurely. “I’m sorry, what should I call you?”
“
“We asking our initial investors to pony up what they can-
“I’m tapped out at the moment.” He turned to Cash and winked. “But thanks for lookin’ out, big bro.”
Cash got up and shut the blinds. Even in the dim light of the room, Bennita Bangs glowed.
“Oh, I ain’t asking you for money, birthday boy,” Cash said, “We need you t’provide a little sweat equity for the home team.”
Cash walked over to the safe, which was hidden behind a velvet painting of James Brown onstage at the Apollo. He pulled out a money bag and laid it on the table.
“Happy birthday, partner,” Cash said, choking up. Cravitz opened the sack and pulled out a bag of yellow powder. As he turned it in the light the powder took on a gold, metallic glow.
“This is just a one-time deal. Kinda like a crime-
