CHAPTER SEVEN
1999 – Errand Boy
Mundo hit me up on Thanksgiving.
“Yo, where you at?” he asked.
“You know, over by my folks’ place,” I replied.
“Word. Your moms going hard with the griot and diri djon djon?” he asked.
“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” I laughed. “Stop by if you want. You know they’d love to see you, especially if you’re gonna be bouncing for good soon.”
“You know what? That’s a good idea,” Doe agreed. “I’mma slide through in a couple of hours. I’ll bring over some of my mom’s pineapple chow mein.”
And exactly two hours later- on the dot, Doe rang the doorbell. I ran downstairs to let him in- he was carrying a big Tupperware container of chow mein and a small bouquet of flowers for my mom. We sat around with my parents and shot the shit for a while, as an old System Band record played low in the background. They wanted to hear all about Mundo’s big move to Panama.
“I have an apartment in El Cangrejo waiting for me,” Doe told them. “It’s got two bedrooms, so don’t be sad when I convince Pierre to move down.”
I was my parents’ only child, by design, and they really enjoyed having me close by.
After a bit, Doe and I excused ourselves. I grabbed a bottle of kremas from the sideboard and we went into the backyard to chop it up. I poured two big glasses. Mundo pulled two cigars from the inside pocket of his North Face parka and handed one to me.
“Bolo sent them with one of his guys whos’ in town this week,” he explained.
We sat at the picnic table, smoking and sipping. It felt good.
“So, what’s the plan, frè'm” I asked. “You ready to get the fuck out of BK for good?” For a rare moment, I wasn’t probing or strategizing. I was honestly checking in to see how my best friend was feeling.
“I mean, si pero no,” he replied. That made me laugh. Mundo’s Spanish game was never the best, but he’d be getting a crash course soon enough.
“What’s the concern?”
“It’s Panama! You know how it is over there,” he said.
During our college years, Mundo and I had spent most of our summer vacations in Panama. I’d gone to University in Santo Domingo, and Doe had been at University of Hartford im Connecticut, and we’d meet up in Panama City, visit with Bolo and fam for a while, then take off and fuck around the rest of the country.
And I totally knew what Mundo was talking about. It wasn’t gonna be like here, where he could live in Clinton Hill, go kick it at a house party in Harlem and then do a quick business run to the projects in Far Rockaway. In Panama, Doe was gonna be under Tío Bolo’s wing, and that was a whole different scene.
“I foresee a lot of country club dances and beauty pageant girls in your future,” I said. “Don’t forget to pack your linen Miami Vice blazers and woven leather sandals.”
Mundo pulled a face. “You’re not lying, bro.”
Then he shook his head hard and fast, as if to rid himself of all the social conventions he’d soon have to adhere to.
“Ah, fuck it. It’s a done deal. Anyway,” he turned to me and changed the subject, “I have one last small favor I need from you.”
And with that, I went back to my usual strategic pose.
“Oh, yeah? Whatchoo need?”
“Chris and Dave Lighty are throwing a party tomorrow night. Eula’s been bugging me to take her,” Mundo explained. “Like a date or some shit.”
I laughed. Mundo was forever getting himself tangled up in some bullshit with some crazy chick or another.
“So, what- are you asking me if I wanna make it a double date?” I asked. That would never happen. I never brought any woman I was interested in around Mundo.
“Haha no, mahfucka,” Doe laughed. “I need you to drive us. There’s gonna be a bunch of players there who I can get up with and make some quick deals. So, I’ll need you to get us there and then if anything lines up, you can take care of it for me and Eula and I can get a town car home.” He smiled at me, all expectantly and shit.
“So, you want me to be the errand boy,” I said, flatly.
“Not at all, Pierre,” Mundo said, trying to look genuinely hurt. “I just figured since I already have to go to this thing, you and I could make some money out of it.”
I rolled my eyes at that tired shit. Once again, this motherfucker was tryina rope me into the same old face man/errand boy routine.
“Seriously, ‘Brón,” he started in again,” I’m just trying to maximize all possible profits before I head off into unknown territory.”
As if Tío Bolo would ever let the golden child fend for himself.
“Fine. Fuck it. Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll drive you home tonight and hold the Volvo. What time do you need me to pick you and that dizzy broad up tomorrow?”
Mundo smiled, and poured himself another glass of kremas.
