I decided to become a different version of Cabrón and held off on grilling Hopeton for a few days. I’d check in with him via text, but didn’t stop by PanStar and never mentioned my meeting with Mundo’s father.
Then on Thursday, I figured I may as well get it over with. Before my weekend meeting with Mr. Henriques, I needed to get Hopeton’s input. Without it, I’d be walking in half blind.
I texted Hopeton at 9 in the morning.
Yo!
Yute. Whagwan.
Ain’t shit. At work. You free tonight? Wanna get dinner?
Okay. What time and where?
Your spot again- Frankies. Court Street. I’ll be by you at 8 and you can drive.
I was planning to sit back and let Hopeton do the explaining for a change. And I wanted to have as many drinks as I felt like having. Should be good. Let him drive.
By eight pm I was showered, shaved and ready to spar with Hopeton. I grabbed a big jar of homemade mamba pimante that I’d purchased in Montrouis and rolled around the corner to the big man’s house.
Hopeton answered the door, like, .5 seconds after I rang the bell.
“Pierre, koumon ou ye?”
“Anfòm. E ou menm?”
“Byen, byen.”
Hopeton’s Kreyol was coming along nicely.
I thrust the jar of peanut butter in his hand.
“Sa se mamba pimante,” I told him. “Homemade spicy peanut butter. Shit is addictive!”
He reached in and placed the jar on the hallway console, then locked the door.
I said hi to my zo reken as I passed it on my way to Hopeton’s brand new Audi Q7.
And we were off.
I couldn’t wait to see what musical subtext Hopeton was gonna drop on me this time.
The second he turned on the engine, Dennis Brown came sliding out of the speakers.
Sitting here watching fools like themselves when they should all be thinking of getting to know themselves
So, we were looking forward to a heavy session of reasoning. I was all good with that as long as he could answer at least some of my many burning questions.
Hopeton made a right onto Flatbush Avenue and asked me how my trip had been.
“It was off the chain, Hopeton,” I replied. “D.R .was chill family time- I made my parents go with me to a waterfall on my thirty-fifth birthday, so I could pray in a river.”
“Whaaaaaaaaat?” Hopeton asked. “You conscious like that, Cabrón?”
I gave a rough laugh. “Yeah, motherfucker. I just don’t talk about it to anyone, and shit.”
Hopeton dropped the subject, but I knew he filed that tidbit away for a later date.
“And Haiti? Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Hell, yes,” I said. “It was incredible. Haiti’s the only place where I really feel like I’m me. I’d live there in a heartbeat, full-time, if I thought things would stabilize there for real.”
“We need to get you to Jamaica soon, too. I haven’t been to Haiti yet, but I have a feeling you’d have a similar vibe in Kingston and Portie.”
“Definitely,” I replied. “And I’m gonna get you to Haiti soon, too. That reminds me- I met this guy named Édo when I was in Miami. One of Doe’s business buddies. But this guy is Haitian and lives between Colombia and Jamaica. I’m sure he’s in the game but he definitely has some sort of legitimate front. Anyway, we linked in Port au Prince and he said we should get up in Jamaica in the next few months.”
“Interesting,” Hopeton said in an oblique tone. “Did you meet any girls?”
“You know what? I actually did. Edo brought a bunch of friends by my hotel for drinks. The women were all pushing forty, with real careers and able to hold a conversation. You would’ve loved it.”
“Hmmm,” Hopeton mused. “Maybe Édo is worth vetting after all.”
From that point, we just talked about easy shit, both of us knowing the real conversation would happen over dinner, just like it always did.
While life goes on everyone's got to stand strong You can't surrender, no no no
