The Jook

"So who the hell were those guys?" I asked again.

"Little Hand," he said, taking a gulp from his glass.

"Your new nickname?"

Nap leaned on the bar next to me. He scratched the side of his face with a long turquoise nail. "I'm into them for some large green, Zelmont."

"Your partners in this?" I waved a hand around.

"Yeah." He tipped his glass, looking at the bottom.

"Say, Nap. You was the one always advisin' me to get off the pipe and blow and save my scratch. You was the one who made all the good investments."

He straightened up, his biceps flexing and loosening as he placed his hands flat on the bar. "And I did too. But don't forget I've got two ex-wives and had my share of palimony suitwomen and men." He showed his horse teeth. "I know you understand how it's tough keeping your dick out of trouble when junior gets an itch."

"That guy on the cell phone the other night, the one with the accent," I said.

"Chekka. He's the local don, or whatever the hell the Serbs in Little Hand call the leader."

"And they came to you? Black folks, even brothers like you, don't run in that crowd, do they?"

"They do if, like me, they've put some money into a certain commercial waste hauling business headquartered in San Pedro." He poured some more ginger ale, letting it sit in the glass. He picked up a swizzle stick whose head was shaped in the Heisman Trophy pose, then started tapping it on the bar.

I always had a problem learning my playbook. My degree in communications from Long Beach State said more about my worth to the athletic program than it did about my focus on schooling. But once I got my mind around the information, I was on it, baby.

"You mean Stadanko's in on this?" I said. Stadanko owned a solid-waste retrieval business called Shindar over near the docks. Hell, 'cause of Nap, I used to have some stock in the company myself.

Nap stopped tapping the swizzle stick. "I'm not sure to what extent Stadanko is involved in the criminal end. Rudy is his cousin and seems to be the one true gangster in the family. Near as I can tell, Chekka launders cash through Shindar and other legitimate fronts."

"Then Stadanko is his front man," I said. "But he must know what Rudy does and get his cut of the strong-arm stuff."

"Yeah," Nap agreed, shaking his head, "I think you're right. It appears that on a day-to-day basis, Stadanko runs the franchise and Rudy runs the solid-waste business as a way to control his other enterprises. I checked, and on paper Stadanko is supposed to have sold his shares to Rudy."

"That would make sense," I said. "Stadanko can't be linked to any thug shit, what with Weems on the warpath."

"Yeah," the big man added, "gives him plausible deniability."

I wasn't sure what that meant but I went on. "And he's got the city officials watching his every move too. But why'd you have us invest in his trash business in the first place?"

Nap made a sound with his tongue. "What better way to get in good with the dude? Remember, back when I said it was a good idea to invest with Shindar, he was only one among several cats hoping they'd get the nod to be majority owner of the Barons."

"Always keeping that back door option open, huh?" I cracked. Nap gave me a big ol' grin. "Why not? When I got out of football I had enough to live okay on."

"But you wanted to stay in the zone, still be an operator," I finished.

He hunched his tackle's shoulders. "You know what I'm talking about, Zelmont. Doing that play-by-play thing on ESPN wasn't gonna get it."

"And a upscale club kept you high steppin'. But you could have gotten a regular loan, couldn't you?"

Nap finally drank some more. "That means straightening out some credit them ex-hoes of mine fucked up. That means collateral and a business plan. That means time to line that shit up, get through the bank committee, and so forth. Meanwhile you had some other ballplayers backed by new money kids in Newport Beach salivating to get this land 'cause it's right by the new sports complex."

I adjusted my butt on the stool. "So you had to move quick. Now what?"

Nap looked at me dead on. "I need you and Danny to watch my back."

I laughed. "Why don't you get your brother and his Victoria Avenue poot butts to roll up on this Little Hand?"

"Come on, Zelmont," he said, irritated. "Those gents ain't got enough discipline to walk in a straight line if there was free Olde English at the other end. But I got to put Danny in on this, otherwise he'd get insulted."

"We wouldn't want that."

"But you got the savvy to keep him in line. And we can put him and his boys in motion when it's needed."

"You soundin' like that's a for sure thing."

"I expect to get out of this box I'm in. Come on."

We went into his office. The room was done up in dark woods, and there were different kinds of African carvings, gargoyles, and demon statues all over. On top of a tall bookcase was a row of Nap's trophies. Of course there was a frou frou touch, with a pink and blue toilet set on a marble slab, an umbrella over it. Modern goddamn art. Through a large arched window I could see the Staples Center.

Nap walked over to a large squat stone head sitting on a thick wood shelf. It had those ancient Mexican features with black blood in its face. He stuck his index finger in each eye, then pressed the nose, followed by flicking something behind the left ear.

I heard a panel slide open somewhere in the room. Nap crossed to a curtain pulled back from the arched window. He reached behind and, like Blackstone the Magician who my mom took me to see once, produced the rabbit that made me smile. He laid a thousand and five in cash on me.

"Every week I can pay you the same. No reporting, no trace. And if things go right, there'll be a bigger payoff."

"Like how?"

"Be in the moment, my brother. All will be revealed."

It got on my nerves when he spouted that Zen shit. But a thousand and some change was looking good about then, so what could I say? "Now you know I gotta be workin' out, Nap."

Nap banged his swizzle stick against his bottom lip. He seemed to be considering something else, but said, "That can be handled. You seen Burroughs since you been back?"

Burroughs was a doc a lot of the guys went to for help in establishing a rehab program. Especially if you needed to be clean in a hurry. He was also useful in several other ways too. But I didn't want to get into why I hadn't. "I ain't gonna be standin' in the entrance in a top hat and one of them long coats like some doorman?"

"You're repeating yourself, son. And don't change the fuckin' subject."

"It must be your feminine side which sets you to worryin' so much. I'll take care of my hip."

Nap pushed his hands up like a homey pulled over by the Highway Patrol on the Harbor Freeway at 3

"I'm in as long as I ain't got a contract. But once that happens, I'm outta here faster'n one of Madonna's boyfriends."

Nap bit on the end of the swizzle, breaking it off in his teeth. "That's good, Zelmont," he said, again keeping what he was thinking to himself.

We shook hands and I went back out into the parking lot, careful like. Maybe Chekka's boys were waiting around, figuring to smoke a brother before lunchtime. They weren't and I got in my ride with no particular place to go. I could have gone to find Davida, try and make up. But she'd see through that. She knew me well enough to know I would just be doing it to get a celebration fuck out of her. She could wait.

I had butterflies with razor wings doing loop-the-loops in my stomach. I was psyched up and couldn't quite figure out why. The danger of them gangsters had me sharp, but that wasn't it. Motherfuckahs who thought with their guns were cowardly punks anyway. You had to respect a piece, but not the fool packing it. Guns gave 'em a false sense of security. That could be handled.