CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
2009 - Family Negotiations
Back in BK, I had two things to take care of. First off, get up with Hopeton and see what he really knew about Mundo’s plans for me.
Now that I had Mundo’s vision of my future in Panama, I had to get a better lay of the land from a grown-up’s perspective. I was too old and too credentialled to be operating solely on Mundo’s vague promises and my own fraught prayers. And it was obvious I had to start out with Hopeton- if everyone was hell bent on my being a project manager, then I was gonna be walking the critical path. Fuck that.
Once I felt like I was properly equipped to begin negotiations, I’d book some time with Mr. Henriques to start hammering out an employment agreement. It would be interesting to see if Mundo let him know to expect me or not.
I drove over to PanStar at around 5:30 on Monday. I hadn’t let Hopeton know I was on my way over but he did not seem surprised to see me.
“Pierre.” It was Hopeton’s standard greeting when serious matters were in play.
“Hopeton,” I gave- my standard reply.
“Bwoy,” Hopeton said, joking but not joking, “I expected to see you turning up at this doorstep no later than 9am.”
“I slept late,” I said.
“Rough weekend?” he inquired, genuinely curious.
“A long one,” I replied. “But fun. And illuminating.”
Hopeton gave me a look that screamed hood therapist- he knew it would take very little to pull it all out of me.
“You closing up soon?” I asked. “I thought maybe we could head into Manhattan for some Chinese food. I can drive and park in that lot on Baxter Street. Or we can take the subway, if you feel like keeping it real.”
Hopeton straight up laughed at me and told me he’d be ready to leave within thirty minutes. I told him where I was parked and asked him to meet me at the car.
I was blasting Buju Banton and idly singing along, eyes closed and head tilted back, when Hopeton tapped on my window.
I unlocked the front doors and he slid into the passenger seat.
I and I, I wanna rule my destiny.
“Cabrón, man,” Hopeton scolded, “Is this really where we are? Again?”
“Again, Hopeton?” I replied, zero humor in my tone. “I think you meant to say always.”
Hood therapy had commenced.
Hopeton wasted no time getting to it. “Pierre. Speaking of keeping it real, I can’t keep scraping you off the windshield every time you go and deal with Mundo. How are you gonna manage when you’re with him full-time?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted, as I pulled from the curb. “That’s why you and I are heading towards Chinatown.”
“Well, how was your weekend?” he asked.
“It was fun,” I said. “We ate steaks, I met some of his rich business buddies and I danced with a beautiful girl who I’ll probably never see again.”
“Sounds like a jolly good time,” Hopeton said drily. “What did you and Mundo discuss, businesswise?”
“He wants- no, he needs me to move to Panama City A.S.A.P., so I can be his project manager, errand boy and clean up man.”
I quickly turned my head to the right and looked at Hopeton. Traffic heading towards the Manhattan Bridge was a bitch- we’d have a decent amount of time to work through the “feelings” part of my reluctance to cast my lot with Mundo and then one we sat down to eat, I’d let Hopeton walk me through the logistics side of why I needed to sacrifice myself to this humiliating cause.
Hopeton surprised me by keeping quiet.
Instead of responding, he pulled a CD out of his work bag and slipped it into my system. He fast forwarded to a song that held an important message he felt I absolutely had to hear right at that particular moment.
“Gangster. Escape done already made. Gangster. Can’t get catch up in no raid.”
“Terror Fabulous, Hopeton?” I asked. “Aren’t you a little too old for 90s gunman anthems?”
“Real gunman is never too old for any gunman anthem,” he replied. “And you need to learn- no matter what you do in Panama, you’re gonna be fine as long as you keep yourself two steps ahead of Mundo’s drama.”
“I’m sorry, bredren, but this shit is too zen for me,” I said. “Can you cut out the Mister Miyagi shit and just tell me straight up why you need me to move my life all the way from Flatbush to Panama City just to babysit Mundo?”
“We’ll get there, Pierre,” Hopeton replied. “Let’s get some food in our stomachs first. Right now, I want to hear all the legitimate and petty reasons why you don’t want to leave Brooklyn for Panama.”
“Okay,” I said. We were right around Flatbush and Fulton. That gave me- in this traffic, at least- twenty minutes to vent. “I was in prison for five years, Hopeton. Were you ever in jail for five years?”
“No,” he said. “I did two years. In Kingston.”
Hopeton was one of those people who no matter how many years you know him you’ll never know his whole story.
“Okay, well you know how that can fuck you up and make you not know what you should be doing next,” I replied.
“True, but you and Mundo have known each other forever. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of giving up control. Obviously! I have a real career here. I have a real side interest going on, with you and Biz. And I don’t need to ride in a caravan to get from one compound to the other. I’m in Brooklyn, and I’m free.”
“Now, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes at me with this,” Hopeton said, “but listen to me clearly, Pierre- men like you and me are always free. We just gotta remember the gangster’s anthem. We no rob petty money, a pure Brinks we jook.”
I rolled my eyes and then let out a big fucking laugh.
