“Whatever you start today you need to finish.”
Dane wanted to sit beside his grandma and hug her, but she shifted on the couch and pulled the blankets higher. He said, “I will.”
“Go, then. You be careful.”
He drove over to Williamsburg, down Bedford Avenue past the new ultrahip cafes, vintage clothing stores, and restaurants, heading to the projects. The neighborhood quickly gave way to abandoned buildings and burned-out blocks. He remembered his parents bringing him here to celebrate
He found the address he was looking for and pulled over about a block away, behind a pile of garbage and rubble three feet high.
It took Dane about four hours to see how the setup worked. There were the lookouts, the dealers, the muscle, and the boss and his crew. The lookouts were perched on the corners and rooftops, keeping their eyes to the street, watching for police and potential buyers. Dane had been made immediately; but they knew he wasn't a cop, so they waited while he sat behind the Caddy's wheel.
The street action moved with well-oiled efficiency, honed by repetition. The crew used walkie-talkies, not cell phones where anybody could be listening. The scouts corralled addicts and sold to them within the safety of their secured alleys, the muscle protecting the exchange of money and making sure nobody hit the dealers. Every two hours a bag man would be sent up the block into an apartment with the take so far, retrieve more drugs, and get right back to selling. So far as Dane could tell, there were at least six dealers in this general area. Bag men farther out from the home base probably only made two drops a day.
Fredric Wilson appeared to be an all-around wing man. He sold some crack, dropped off a wad of cash, and spent a lot of time gabbing on the walkie-talkies. So far as Dane could tell, Fredric didn't fit easily into any particular slot of the crew. That was good, it would make things easier.
Dane took off his jacket, left his.38 in the Caddy's glove box, and strutted up the street, all the scouts watching him. Three approached him at once and didn't bother to hawk their wares since they knew he wasn't a buyer. They couldn't figure him out, which was also good. They remained silent until one of the thugs moved from a doorway and stepped up.
“I want to talk to Fredric Wilson,” Dane said.
“Why?”
“We have business.”
“Wait here.”
It got more activity going, cars pulling out of alleys, doors opening and slamming. A few more faces peered at him through windows and from the fire escapes. The walkie-talkies squawked all over the fucking place.
Dane stood there on the corner with three kids not even in their twenties yet staring him down. They were nothing compared to his drill sergeant, and he let his face go placid. At the curb up ahead sat a silver Lexus, buffed out and the hubcaps shining so bright you couldn't stare at them for long. The toughs moved to the driver's door. It opened and Fredric popped out. He strutted up with a long-legged swagger.
He had on a fashionable silk-and-wool suit, posh, with a wide lapel and a lime-green tie knotted tightly. Dane wondered what Glory would've thought of that. There were diamond rings on six of his fingers, and a bump under his jacket that looked about the size of a SIG Mauser. He was one of those cats who liked to dare people to make a grab for what he had, hoping he'd appear so ready for it that nobody would make the move.
Dane permitted himself to feel the wind flowing around his shirt collar. This was gonna be all right.
Grabbing the knot of his tie to make sure it was still straight, Fredric approached Dane, his face clenched into an expression of contempt, but his eyes bright with the idea of easy cash. “What do you want?”
Dane slid into the guy's personal space, three inches away. “To talk to you.”
“You a cop?”
It got Dane smiling like a mental patient. He had to put the brakes on his laughter before it became real. “You act like asking that question is going to keep you safe from the courts. Like a cop never lied on the stand. ‘Your Honor, I told him I was a police officer, but he sold me the cocaine anyway.' Don't you know how lame it sounds when you ask somebody if he's a cop?”
“Who the hell are you, man?”
“I blew my horn at you once.”
“What?”
“Outside your building in Bed-Stuy, the one with the red awning. You were there with your girlfriend Taneesha Welles two years ago.”
“I haven't seen Taneesha in a while. You have business with her?”
“I have business with you, Fredric. Besides, Taneesha's dead.”
That got the prick for about a half second. Fredric had known she was dead, but he'd forgotten. “Well, ain't that sad.”
“It is. She died just like a friend of mine. Because you were selling bad shit.”
Dane liked this crew. About ten guys were ringing him and Fredric now, killers to the core, but hardened and smartened by the life. None of them got in the way. They listened and watched, clever enough to wait and make up their own minds.
“The fuck you say, man?” Squaring himself, leaning in like the posturing would be enough.
“You heard me. You want me to repeat myself in front of your crew? You sold bad flake. You poisoned at least two people. Taneesha and a girl named Angelina Monticelli. I'm here to see you kick up for that.”
Chewing his lips, trying to give the
“You never budged from the house, that's why. Even when a teenager was dying on your stoop. Maybe you don't remember me jamming on my horn, but you should.”
“You crazy, fuckah.” Fredric dropped out of his high-class attitude and got back to sounding like a gangbanger, with the moves now, arms akimbo, jumping like some giant rooster. “You want me to put one in yo head?”
“Pull that SIG Mauser and I'll have to stuff it in your ear. You and I have had this meeting coming for too long. We need to get past it.”
“You talkin' like a guinea wiseguy now! That what you is!” Leaping back and forth, like a dance, swinging to his own rhythm.
“That's because I pretty much am one.” It was time to put the fear in him. “All those diamond rings flashing. You get put down, how long do you think it'll be before somebody comes out with a bolt cutter and starts taking your fingers?”
“What?”
“You're just daring them to try, aren't you? You think everybody is a punk ass bitch except you. I bet you flash those rocks in everybody's face all day long. You tempt a man long enough and he's going to make a grab. You're gonna look funny trying to pick your nose with a stump.”
There it was. The dark swirl of terror starting in his eyes. “These are my men. This is my crew.”
“And if you get iced, who takes over?”
Fredric quit moving around so much and tried to keep his face impassive. But the only thing that ever really rattled fuckers like this was the fact that there was always somebody else willing to step into their shoes. Fredric wouldn't be missed for a goddamn minute, no more than Taneesha Welles.
“I'm going to take you out of action, Fredric.”
“Stop sayin' my name like that, man.”
“I'm going to weaken you so much that your spot gets filled in a split goddamn second.”
“Fuck you!”
“Nature abhors a vacuum, Fredric. You're going to the curb and no one is going to help you. Look at you. I been pissing on you for five minutes and you haven't made a move yet. You're going to lose those fingers of yours.”
It was finally enough to get him reaching for his gun, proving to the others that he didn't have the guts to go hand to hand with an unarmed guy.
Dane pushed out with the flat of his palm and pressed Fredric Wilson's wrist tightly to his chest so he couldn't
