Frankie glared at Butch, but held her tongue, letting Cowboy handle his business. “Man, 22 is a stick up, but you determined to fuck me with no Vaseline? Dawg, I can get 25 out in the Stuy, but I come to you cause you my man. And since you my man I can go twenty-one-five, but anything shorter and I gotta bounce.”
Butch wandered back around the desk and re-took his seat. Frankie was ice grilling him, but he was focused on Cowboy. The smug way the young man looked at him made Butch tight, but he was too seasoned to show it. He knew that was El Pogo’s coke that Cowboy was selling, therefore, the quality was on time and the price was more than right. Did he really wanna let Cowboy walk out of there with it over a few dollars?
“A’ight G,” Butch reached for a desk drawer and Frankie was on her feet with the .380 pointed at his face. “Easy, baby,” he said, freezing in place. “I’m just reaching for the bread,” only when Cowboy gave her the nod did Frankie lower her gun. Slowly Butch began pulling stacks of money from the drawer and placing them on the desk. When he was done, there was $86,000 lying on the table which he pushed over to Cowboy. “Imma take these for now. Tomorrow I’ll send somebody over to pick up the rest.”
“See, I knew we could come to an understanding,” Cowboy admired the money. The sound of the door opening startled him and spun Frankie, but the tension faded when Iris entered the room. Frankie eyed her cautiously as she placed two extra large takeout bags on the table baring the Hades logo. Without so much as a second look, Iris turned and left the way she came.
Butch smiled easily. “I know you didn’t plan on carrying all that cabbage in your pockets?”
“I trust everything went well,” Cos said from the passenger seat of the truck. He had a blunt dangling in between his lips and his lighter poised for action.
“Smooth as silk, baby boy,” Cowboy patted the shopping bag on his lap; Frankie was holding the other one.
“You’re about a lucky son of a bitch,” Thor added, from his position behind the wheel.
“It ain’t got nothing to do with luck, this shit is pure skill!” Cowboy boasted.
“Stupidity is more like it. Man, what was you thinking when you jacked El Pogo?” Cos asked.
“I was thinking he had that bread and how sweet it is,” Cowboy said honestly. “Cos, I knew you was gonna trip on it, so I had to go lone wolf. What’s done is done, so fuck talking about it. All I wanna know is are y’all down to celebrate tonight?”
“You know I’m always down for a party,” Thor said.
“Yeah, man. We can hit the spots and get shit faced. How’s that sound to you?” Cowboy asked Frankie.
“Been there done that,” she said, thumbing through the bills. “Ya’ll do the guy thing, I’m probably gonna hook up with Mo.”
“If you like it, I love it,” Cowboy said, secretly thinking of the pussy he could get while Frankie was gone. “Cos, why don’t you bring the young boy out tonight? I wanna feel him out before we do the Doll House.”
“I still can’t believe y’all letting an outsider into our thing. You better hope he don’t turn out to be no snitch,” Frankie warned.
“Nah, homey is a straight shooter. I seen his paperwork, and the boy was in the street handling before he got knocked. Even the bulls steered clear of that cat on the yard.”
“I don’t give a fuck what he did on the yard. I’m more worried about how he handles himself on the street.”
“We’ll see what he’s made of,” Cos said, finally lighting the blunt.
TEN
Tito paced the dim living room replaying the robbery in his head. He watched so much C.S.I. and Law and Order that he considered himself somewhat of an expert. On a glass table, under a reading lamp were the remains of the plastic restraints and a beat up bullet. Mustache had screamed like a girl when the old woman cut it out, but they couldn’t risk him going to the doctor.
Tito thumbed one of the plastic restraints. “Definitely someone who does this,” he said to no one in particular. Even before he had examined the evidence, he knew whoever had hit El Pogo’s bodega wasn’t a novice. Only a real ballsy or real skilled thief could’ve gotten away with it, and he figured the leader was a combination of both.
Still thumbing the restraint, Tito headed down the hall to the bathroom. There was a man standing outside the door looking on while another man spoke quietly to a young boy who was slumped on the toilet. It had taken them no time at all to find the third black who had been in the bodega. Kids like him never strayed too far from what was familiar to them so it was just a matter of playing the block and waiting. Once they had him under wraps Tito began the interrogation, which had been violent and unpleasant.
“You ready to talk to me now?” Tito asked, glaring down at the boy. His lips were split and bleeding, while the left side of his face looked like chopped meat.
The kid was visibly dazed, looking around trying to locate the voice. When his puffed eye landed on Tito, he tensed. “Man, I swear on my dead grandmother’s grave I ain’t have shit to do with that robbery!” he sobbed.
“So it was by accident that you were seen coming out of the bodega right after it happened?” Tito slapped him. “Don’t play with me, monkey!”
“Yo, God, I was just going into the store to get some blunts and these niggaz was like shooting shit up. I just got low and tried to wait it out, that’s my word!”
Tito picked up a wilted newspaper that had been sitting on the floor. It was splotched with blood, but the headline was still legible: Harlem Youth Found Shot to Death Outside Fort Lee, New Jersey. The actual words were smeared, but it was the picture of the victim that Tito was more interested in. From what they had learned from the kid so far, the dead man was the accomplice. Apparently, whoever had master-minded the robbery wasn’t leaving any loose ends.
“Looks like your boy is killing off anyone who could finger him in the robbery,” Tito said, literally shoving the newspaper into the kid’s face. “If we hadn’t gotten to you, he surely would have.”
“I don’t know neither one of them cats,” the kid shook his head violently.
Tito looked at the man who had been whispering to the kid when he came in, but the man just shrugged. “He’s been kicking the same shit for the last half hour. I don’t think he’s gonna rat on his homeboys, T.”
Tito stared at the pleading look in the boy’s eyes. “Shoot him and let’s get out of here,” Tito said, turning to leave the bathroom.
“Cowboy!” the kid blurted out.
Tito stopped and turned slowly. “What did you say?”
“Cowboy,” the kid choked on his tears. “The dead guy from the newspaper called the other one Cowboy, but man, that’s all I know.”
Tito looked at Whisper to see if the name rang a bell with him. “Ain’t that the black dude who be on the motorcycle? You know… the bandito.”
Tito wasn’t familiar with Cowboy, but he was familiar with his exploits. He was known through out the streets as “The Bandit King”, a man with the balls and the brains to take off any caper. Tito vowed that this would be the last caper he took off once they caught up with him. In his mind, he was already thinking of ways they might possibly trap the arrogant little thief.
“You did good, little monkey. Whisper,” he turned to the interrogator. “Get that sneaky ass nigga Booby on the case. I wanna know where this Cowboy is at all times. Let’s go,” Tito said to his two soldiers.
“What about him,” Whisper nodded towards the boy who had the hope of survival in his eyes.