CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
2000- Hopeton
Yeah, we were at PanStar again. This time the lights were on, but the front door was locked. Cabrón rang the buzzer and in a matter of seconds Hopeton appeared.
“Hopeton.”
“Cabrón.”
Just like New Years.
But this time, Hopeton turned to me and said, “Hello again, young lady.” Cordial yet stern. Like a history teacher outside of regular school hours.
Hopeton punched numbers into the keypad and we walked into the back room.
Cricket was playing on the extra-large television, volume cranked.
‘Brón took the rotis and sodas out of their bags and spread them out on the big, mahogany desk.
“Thanks for picking this up for me,” Hopeton said to Brón. “I had a taste for roti.”
Hopeton turned to me and asked, “Do you like roti?”
“I’ve never had it before,” I replied.
He smiled.
“Goat roti with extra pepper sauce and a banana Solo,” Cabrón said, handing Hopeton his food.
“Chicken roti, no bone, no pepper sauce and a cola champagne for Sporty Spice,” he said, handing me my food.
Now this motherfucker was calling me Sporty Spice. He really was taking over for Mundo. Ugh. Why?
“And a shrimp roti, extra pepper sauce and a sorrel, light ice for me.”
I felt like Cabrón conducted that extended food drop performance specifically for me- like I was supposed to memorize his and Hopeton’s favorite Trini food for future reference.
“Sit!” Hopeton urged. “Let’s take our time and eat. We can get down to business afterwards.” We sat in front of the tv, watching the cricket match.
“You got the Busta Cup?” ‘Brón asked Hopeton.
Hopeton nodded.
“This gon’ be good,” ‘Brón commented.
For all the shit I was getting for being a clueless white girl, I gotta admit – that chicken roti was slamming!
