CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
2007 – Capicú
Early afternoon, one Saturday in July, I stopped by a bodega and picked up two six-packs of Prestige then headed over to PanStar. Hopeton had hit me up the night before to let me know he’d be grilling some chicken and snapper. Biz was there when I arrived. I hadn’t seen much of him since I got home. From what Hopeton told me, Biz was starting to come into his own.
“You were right,” he’d said, shortly after I’d gotten home from Fort Dix. “Biz is no joke when it comes to going through contracts and handling closing documents.”
“You see? I told you. He loves that shit!” I’d replied.
“I’m happy to let him do what he loves, because I hate it,” Hopeton had laughed.
When I showed up that Saturday, Hopeton was manning the grill and Biz was at the picnic table, typing away on a Macbook Pro.
“What’s up, fam?” I said by way of greeting. Hopeton and I pounded fists. Biz leaned forward to dap me up. I handed him a beer and put the rest of them in the cooler Hopeton had placed in the shade.
The three of us spent a pleasant afternoon, eating and drinking, listening to Hopeton’s old sound clash tapes from the 80s and just catching up in general. Hopeton’s cricket team was on a winning streak. Biz’s baby mother was pregnant with their second child and he was considering asking her to marry him. Biz told me Lucci was studying for his EMT certification. I told him to pass my number to Lucci and tell him to give me a call.
And then I let it slip that Mundo had been lowkey hounding me to come to his rescue in Panama.
Hopeton and Biz both shook their heads at that.
“Don’t do it, ‘Brón,” Biz warned. “That kid is forever trying to get you under his domain.”
“You’re not lying,” I agreed.
Hopeton brought out the dominoes table just as the sun started to set. He turned on the patio lights, lit a citronella candle and the three of us settled in for a long session of shit talking and strategy, Brooklyn style.
“So, hey,” I started in, once we were entrenched in the rhythm of the game. “I wanted to talk to the both of you about S-T Real Estate.”
Hopeton looked up and smiled encouragingly. Biz nodded and asked, “What’s up?”
“I know you guys have your shit together and things are running smoothly.” I turned to Biz and said, “Biz, I knew you’d step up and knock it out the park from Hopeton once I became indisposed.”
Biz smiled and thanked me.
“And I don’t want to try and barge in and take over,” I continued. “But, I’m set up and in good shape at my office job so I figured I’d see if you guys could use help on the weekends.”
I looked up to see how this was hitting them. Neither looked shocked or bothered, so I decided to continue.
“I’m not asking to be involved in any of the financial side of things, but I thought you might need someone to take care of making sure the properties are cleaned up and in good shape and to help out showing properties if you guys are slammed on something else.”
Hopeton looked thoughtful.
“It does make sense,” he agreed. “Things are going crazy right now, with all of this mortgage fuckery. People are losing their houses right and left and we’re constantly getting calls from people who are trying to get ahead of foreclosure. What do you think Biz?”
Bix raised his palms to the sky then lightly slapped them on the table.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re busy as fuck, trying to get to everyone. And things are gonna get hectic for me once the baby gets here. It would be good to have you back on.”
From there, we briefly discussed my new role and responsibilities and agreed to hash out the rest sometime in the near future. I was happy to be back with those two, but in a fully legal capacity, one that would supplement my primary, career-focused nine-to-five position.
“Hey Biz,” I asked. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Whatchoo got goin’ on?” Biz asked.
“I gotta go to the Apple store on Fourteenth Street and get me an iPhone.”
“A’ight, bet,” he replied, “I’ll roll with you.”
