CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
2000- The Choice Is Yours
As soon as our food arrived, I went to town on my steak, fries and side salad. It was one of the best meals I’d ever had in my life. I wanted every bite of it.
“You must’ve been hungry,” commented ‘Brón. He’d been eating at a normal people rate.
I looked up from my food and smiled.
“That’s what happens when you stop using,” I replied.
He looked puzzled.
“Yeah, I assumed you noticed that I’ve been cutting down on the dope,” I said.
His face gave nothing away. Was he surprised? Did this change anything?
May as well lay it all out.
“I figured there was no way I could keep up the pace and continue to do a good job for you and Tío Bolo if I was all fucked up all the time.”
‘Brón reached over and filled my wine glass. I clocked his expression starting to shift.
“And I really want to do a good job for you guys,” I continued. “It was nice for a while to have unlimited access to that good PanStar shit, but even more than that, I want to keep working with you and learning stuff. I really like it.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice free of tension. “Well, let’s finish dinner. We can talk about all of that over dessert.”
I slowed down after that, and took the time to enjoy my food. It was heavenly.
I let ‘Brón order for us when the waiter came to take our dessert order. “Crème caramel and mousse au chocolát,” he said. “And an Armagnac for the lady.”
Once dessert arrived, Cabrón dove in to the real reason we were at this posh bistro, having what, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a civilian dinner date. Two young, attractive people out for a nice night of fine dining and good conversation.
“Alright, Eula,” he commenced with the fuckery. “I’m glad to hear you’re trying to take care of yourself. It does make a difference, especially with what I’m about to bring you into.”
I took a big sip- almost a gulp- of my Armagnac. The glass was nearly empty. ‘Brón called the waiter over and ordered me another one.
I stayed quiet as a church mouse. Cabrón was gonna have to play this one out with no assist from Sporty Spice.
“We had a little problem with the holding bay in Brownsville,” he explained.
“It was compromised. There was a break-in and inventory was stolen. And now we have to put that location on the market and find a temporary stash spot. Very temporary.”
He was watching my face, trying to see if any of this info was landing. It was not landing.
“Wait. What? What are you talking about? What holding bay in Brownsville? What inventory? What needs to be sold?” I was trying to keep my voice steady. It was obvious that whatever was about to rain down on me was gonna threaten my security. And that made me feel like I was losing control.
‘Brón shook his head- like, how could I have been running with these men for over a year and still have no idea what was really going on?
“You know what Eula,” he said, “I’m gonna tell you the full version of this story, just so you can finally come around to understanding who exactly it is that you’re dealing with.” I was being treated like a child. Or an inconvenience.
He signaled to the waiter and ordered himself a glass of 40-year-old port. Then he picked back up with the story.
“Mundo owns a garage out in Brownsville. He’s had it for years- his parents bought it for him when he was a kid, just so he could start acquiring property on his name. Once Bolo put us on to running part of his New York franchise, Mundo started using the garage to store inventory that wasn’t suitable for PanStar. Stuff that needed to be out of the way, in an area with less foot traffic.”
“Guns. Bullets. Bulletproof vests. Dumb shit like truckloads of fireworks,” I said softly, more to myself than anything else.
Cabrón nodded. “Now you’re catching up.” He leaned back in his chair, nodding his head along to the reggae track playing overhead.
Destiny. I wanna rule my destiny.
“Listen, ‘Brón,” I began, not caring if he could hear the anger and fear in my voice, “I am not in it like that. Even I have my limits. I am NOT holding guns for you!”
‘Brón picked up his glass of port and took a measured sip.
“You’re not? Are you sure about that?”
I started to go into alternative possibilities- why not HQ? What about PanStar for the short-term?
‘Brón cut me off.
“Now you listen, Eula,” he said. “You want to be a part of this team? Then you’ll do exactly as I say. When I say it. Ou konprann?”
“Oh, now you’re busting out the French on me?” I asked.
“Kreyol,” ‘Brón shot back.
He saw the look on my face and I guess he could tell it was time to turn the screws.
“Do you even know what you’re dealing with? Who Tío Bolo is? Who your man, Mundo is? I don’t think you have any idea. You don’t even really know who I am. But I’ve been watching you trying to figure me out,” he laughed.
With that, Cabrón finally revealed everything my clueless ass had been missing.
The drug clearing house in Panama.
The connect at the Port in Newark.
The property throughout Brooklyn and Queens.
The real estate development deals in Panama.
The low-level side hustles that kept kids like Biz and Lucci occupied.
“Did you even realize that Bolo owns the building that houses Panamanian Star?” Cabrón asked. He saw the confused look on my face. I’d never given anything like that a second’s thought. “Yeah, Eula- he owns the building. Actually, your man, Doe, was the name on the mortgage until Bolo pulled him out of Brooklyn. Then it got transferred to Doe’s parents.”
I knew what ‘Brón was trying to tell me: Mundo could’ve really taken care of me if he’d wanted to. Instead, he used me for low-level shit and to lay around in bed with. Doe saw me as a decadent junkie white girl, a time killing diversion while he waited to receive his exit plan. And I guess he hadn’t been too far off the mark.
Cabrón smiled at me, with a look approximating fondness.
“You’re already in it, Eula. You just didn’t realize it.”
I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
And no- I did not have any dope with me.
