CHAPTER FORTY
2002 – Ghost Mode Activated
As soon as he heard I was arrested, Mundo reached out to my mother and asked her what he could do to help. She told him we didn’t need anything but to be kept in his prayers.
Mundo saw through that bullshit and managed to get her to give up my lawyer’s name. With that info in hand, he asked Mr. Henriques to arrange to handle the entirety of my legal fees. Years later, my mother told me that after the initial retainer fee (which Mr. Henriques made sure to get back to her) not one single invoice ever hit our mailbox. To this day, she has no idea how much my defense cost. Neither do I. But it was the least Mundo could do for me.
There wasn’t much to do at Fairton. I was assigned to the landscaping detail for most of my stay, mowing lawns in warm weather and shoveling snow in the winter. Spent a lot of rec time playing basketball. Got very good at chess. Did crossword puzzles. Spent time in the law library. Listened to Mets games on a little portable radio I purchased from the commissary. My cellmate was a whiteboy Yankees fan from Staten Island, and I chose to ignore him. We had nothing in common.
Visits helped keep me grounded to the fact that there was still a real world going on out there. I’d added everyone in my immediate orbit to my list, but told my parents to save their energy for when I was moved closer to them. My mom ignored my request and visited every other weekend. My dad would accompany her once a month. I felt terrible for both of them. But it did a world of good for me to spend even that brief time listening to their voices, watching their faces. Being a parent has got to be the most thankless job in the universe, especially when you’re raising your kid in Brooklyn.
About three months into my stay, Hopeton came to visit. Our phone contact had been minimal, mainly because there wasn’t much to say that we’d feel comfortable having recorded. It was easier when we were face to face. He caught me up on all the admin shit I’d asked him to handle- my Mercedes sold quickly and he deposited the money into my bank account; he hired someone to pack up all my stuff out of Mundo’s apartment and get it over to my parents’ place; he’d spoken with both Bolo and Mundo and they confirmed that Mr. Henriques would continue to be responsible for any future legal bills, as well as keeping my commissary balance at maximum. I did not want my parents to have to think about any of this shit. They’d been through enough.
“What’s going on at PanStar?” I asked. This was one of the subjects we refused to talk about over the phone. It had been almost a year since my arrest, and I had no idea what Hopeton had pivoted to once Bolo shut down his trafficking venture.
Hopeton leaned towards me and said, in a very low voice, “I’m a wire transfer company now.”
“You mean like Western Union?” I asked.
“Similar. I purchased an authorized agent license from RIA. I can do business all around the world,” he explained.
“Are you fully legal,” I asked. Hopeton knew I was asking him if he was only conducting legal business, or if he had a grey zoned sideline going on.
“Now, what do you think, I-dren?” he asked, in a dry tone. "Why move drugs and guns when you can move money?"
I gave a barely perceptible nod- a signal to Hopeton that I was open and, when the time was right, ready to learn where I fit in.
From there, we moved onto matters pertinent to S-T Real Estate Group- Hopeton told me he intended to keep it alive while I was out of commission. I asked him if he maybe wanted to consider bringing Biz in to handle client management and contracts in my absence.
“That idea scares me,” Hopeton replied. “But it does make sense. That boy loves telling people what they want to hear.”
“And,” I added, “that mofo loves him some paperwork. Show Biz the ropes, Hopeton, and he’ll be a beast during closing and contract phase.”
It felt good to pay it forward, even if Biz’s ass never did figure out that I was the one who rallied for him.
