CHAPTER EIGHT
1999- Mundo Was My World
“EUUUUUUULA!!!! YO! OPEN YOUR WINDOW!”
It was about six months after I’d moved onto Halsey when I found Mundo yelling outside my window. By that point, I’d long ago given him a key but I couldn’t be bothered to ask him where it was. Instead, I threw on a hoody and a pair of Levis with my favorite studded belt to hold them up, splashed some cold water on my face to get rid of any lingering dream demons and headed outside to see what work Mundo had to urgently get cracking on.
“Jesus, Doe- what time is it?” I asked again, once I was standing in front of him. He pulled me into a brief hug. He smelled really fucking good- citrusy and woody. It was driving me crazy. And I may have been imagining it, but I could’ve sworn I felt his hard cock through his silky basketball shorts. “Strictly business, Eula,” I reminded myself as I pulled away.
“It’s minutes to 3,” Mundo replied. “C’mon, we gotta go.”
He led me to his car, a cool, clean Volvo S40 double parked a few feet past my building’s front door. Cabrón was in the driver’s seat. Mundo slid into the passenger’s side and I climbed into the back. Mobb Deep was playing at very low volume on the CD player. I knew what that meant.
“What’s the haps?” I asked as I closed the door, taking great care not to slam it.
“We’re heading out to Far Rockaway,” Mundo replied. “One of my uncle’s old connects is in a cash crunch and he has some product he needs to offload. My uncle said he’d do him a solid and take it off his hands. It’s about 3 bricks. Cabrón’s gonna drive us out there to pick up, then take us back to your crib. You and I can bag up tonight. I gotta send ‘Brón up to Mount Vernon to manage some other time sensitive business for me.” Cabrón nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the road. He may have been a slick talker with asshole tendencies, but ‘Brón did not play when he was behind the wheel for Mundo.
We were passing through central Brooklyn, heading towards the twisting, turning Jackie Robinson Parkway. That was most definitely the scenic route to Queens, but less cop-ridden than the Belt Parkway, especially for 3 kids riding in a tinted up black Volvo, one that would soon be carrying felony-grade weight.
I allowed my mind to wander as we made our way to Edgemere Houses, aka The Edge. The last half a year had been pretty intense. I was excessively proud of myself, the way I’d set myself up in Brooklyn and immediately started running with the big dogs.
I’d been spending a lot of time hustling with Mundo and his crew. Heirarchy still seemed pretty fluid, and we’d all took turns looking after headquarters.
I did notice, however, that whenever I made my way over to Classon & Pacific, Mundo just so happened to be there too. And on nights when the other guys went to kick it with their many ladies, Mundo would come chill with me at my house. I’d order us some expensive Park Slope Chinese delivery and we’d watch movies on my expensive new DVD player. Now that my money was straight and my dope needs taken care of, I’d ditched the bootleg VHS tapes of yore and started to amass quite a collection of flicks to choose from. Belly was a favorite, but I also had Coming to America, Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and a handful of my favorite Shaw Brothers titles, like Drunken Master. I’d been saving my deluxe edition of Breakfast at Tiffany’s for one of my particularly bad PMS days.
Mundo hadn’t made any moves on me, and I was hoping that something might happen later that evening, once we were alone and the product was put to bed. But I wasn’t gonna push it.
I was gonna let it simmer.
