CHAPTER NINETEEN
Last Day Of 1999- Panamanian Star
I finished my beer and asked Cabrón to wait a minute while I went to change into something warm and comfy and girly. I had no idea where we were headed but it clearly wasn’t gonna be anything high profile and flossy. But I also refused to ring in the new century dressed like a boy.
We got outside and I was not at all surprised to see that ‘Brón was in possession of Mundo’s car. He unlocked the Volvo and headed to the driver’s side. I was also not at all surprised he didn’t bother opening my door for me. I rolled my eyes and opened my own damned door. It felt so weird to be sitting in the passenger side with Cabrón driving- up until that night it had always been Mundo in the front seat. So awkward. I prayed ‘Brón wouldn’t put on a Sade CD.
I got right to business as we navigated from the curb.
“Alright, ‘Brón, what’s PanStar? Where we going?”
“PanStar is Mundo’s Tío Bolo’s shipping company over on Nostrand and St. Johns,” ‘Brón so kindly explained.
“What? Mundo’s uncle has a shipping company, like, practically down the block from me?” I asked, genuinely shocked.
“Yeah, Eula,” he replied, all deadpan and shit. “How do you think we’re able to move shit around without tipping off the cops? You’ll see when we get there.”
With that, he punched a N.O.R.E. CD into the changer and cranked the volume up to maximum capacity. “Cocaine Business.”
How fitting. Who knew Cabrón had such a sharp sense of irony? This guy really had an aversion to information dissemination but he did seem to love a good subtext. I could relate.
As soon as we pulled up, I saw the shipping company was a small storefront operation sandwiched between a wig store and an immigration lawyer’s office.
The name on the window said “Panamanian Star Shipping & Logistics Limited.” Hours of operation were listed as “Mon.-Sat. 10am-9pm. Closed Sundays.” The store was still open and there was a guy I’d never seen before standing in the doorway. I think it was safe to assume ‘Brón had let him know we were gonna be stopping by.
“Hopeton,” ‘Brón greeted the man in the doorway.
“Cabrón,” the man replied. “Happy New Year.”
Then he looked at me and said, “Hello, young lady.”
I said hi but didn’t offer my name. Neither did Cabrón.
The three of us stepped inside the shop. It looked sort of like a mini post office, but with these big, sturdy hoop barrels made of bright blue plastic or what appeared to be heavy duty cardboard. I had no clue what this was all about.
Music was blasting from corner speakers bolted into the ceiling.
“Teach the youth how to live. Teach the youth how to survive.”
Hopeton punched some numbers into an electronic keypad and ushered us into a back room.
