I woke up the next morning happy to be spending time at home with my parents, helping my mother cook various dishes for the next day’s holiday feast and playing a series of chess games with my father.
“Your game has improved considerably, Pierre,” my father remarked after I beat him for the second time in a row.
“Thanks for noticing,” I replied. “I found a park not too far from my new apartment where the old men play chess all day long.”
A little before five o’clock I told my parents I was heading out to get up with Hopeton and Biz. I wanted to take a leisurely walk over to PanStar, with a stopover at Ali’s to pick up rotis for the three of us. I grabbed my old slate grey goose down jacket out of the closet and locked the front door behind me. It felt so good to be out and about, breathing in the chilly BK air.
As soon as I was done with Ali’s it was a straight shoot up Nostrand to PanStar. Even though I’d gotten so used to driving everywhere, that walk up Nostrand from Bed Stuy to Crown Heights had always been a favorite of mine. You passed so many neighborhoods on your way through. Each one had such a different vibe. Damn, I’d really missed Brooklyn.
“’Brón!” Biz reached out and dapped me up the second I walked into PanStar. He actually seemed really happy to see me. Hopeton’s greeting was a shade less animated, simply because we’d seen each other only the week before, in Panama City.
I held up the bags of food and drink I’d brought with me and smiled. Hopeton punched in the code to the backroom and opened the door for us.
It felt so good to be on the couch in the PanStar backroom, passing out rotis and catching up on Biz’s bullshit. I’d been hitting him up via text every so often, but he didn’t seem very interested in keeping in contact.
“Every time I go away, the second I’m back all I want is a goat roti,” I said between mouthfuls. Hopeton looked up at me- I knew he’d clocked that my mind had slipped back to my five roti-free years at F.C.I. Fort Dix.
Biz, staying on brand, didn’t catch a thing.
“How’s Panama City?” he asked. “Mundo still a spoiled fuck up?”
“Pretty much,” I replied. “But his wife is fuckin’ gangster. I love that woman.”
“Mundo doesn’t deserve her,” Hopeton agreed.
I was shocked. Hopeton NEVER commented on Mundo’s personal life. In general, Hopeton seemed to prefer to treat Mundo as a necessary, yet thankfully absent, evil- the less discussed the better.
“Gianina’s not stupid,” I reminded him. “I think she’ll cut him loose at some point. But considering she’s six months pregnant it’ll probably be a while from now.”
I thought back to that nasty joke I’d made when I was locked-up and couldn’t attend the wedding: “don’t worry about it- I can be best man at your second wedding!” For Mundo’s sake, I hoped I was wrong.
That was really the first ever time I could remember the three of us shit talking about Doe together, and I was happy to move on from the moment- it wasn’t something that made me feel better.
Biz bounced shortly after he finished eating. His babymother had family in town from North Carolina and he’d promised to be home early to spend time with them.
“I finally got around to buying Joyce that engagement ring we’ve been talking about. Gonna ask her to marry me on Christmas Day, in front of her parents,” he said, sounding slightly embarrassed.
“Holy crap, Biz,” I exclaimed. “That’s like the best Christmas present you could give them!”
“Yeah, all of them,” Hopeton added.
Biz and his girl had been together since they’d been fourteen, so hopefully this would be a short engagement.
“Send me pictures of the big moment, okay?” I asked.
He said he would, then bounced.
Hopeton and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
“Our little boy is all grown up!” I laughed.
Hopeton motioned me over to his desk, stopping on his way to grab two oversized shot glasses out of the mini fridge.
Once at the desk, he reached into his rum drawer, pulled out a bottle of Smith & Cross and poured me a shot.
“Jwaye Nwèl,” he said, then tossed back the shot in one swift motion.
“Jwaye Nwèl,” I repeated, then did the same. “Your Kreyol is getting really fuckin’ good, frè’m. I can tell you’ve been practicing.”
“I’ve been watching Haitian videos on YouTube with the subtitles on,” he replied.
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Well, keep it up,” I replied, “because I think we should do a trip there in April, for Easter. See what’s up, businesswise, in Carrefour and Croix des Bouquet.”
“Sounds interesting,” Hopeton agreed. He grabbed a Post-It off his desk. “How do you spell those two towns? I’m going to look them up later.”
I spelled them out for him and gave a quick geographical and economic orientation, to help start his research out in the right direction.
“And let’s do a quick rundown of what’s going on with our Panama City network,” I suggested. I’d been fairly involved in things since I’d arrived in Panama City, but I knew Hopeton was looking to move me to the next level of integration.
“Yes, let’s,” Hopeton agreed, slipping into Bond villain mode. “So far, you’ve spent the past several months watching the topline layer of how the business works. Do you feel like you’re comfortable with understanding how the legitimate sources of currency are folded into our operation?”
I nodded.
“Good. Then I’d like to expose you to the next level. As soon as I reach for my next scheduled visit, I’ll have you shadow collections firsthand. I also need you to start understanding how repayment schedules are tracked formally for public consumption and how the crew leaders manage their accounting. That’s where things get a little tricky,” he explained.
“Funny you should mention that,” I said. “You know my assistant, Wilkie?”
Hopeton nodded.
“And remember how I had him go through the books to figure out how and when Mundo’s scamming ass was working with the construction companies to steal from the projects?”
Hopeton nodded again.
“Well, it may be a little too premature to set it in motion, but I think we might want to bring him in to handle our books for us. Be our paperwork guy.”
“Like a Panamanian Biz, minus the shitty American attitude,” Hopeton mused.
“EXACTLY,” I said, super emphatically. “Like Biz, but really like us! I knew you’d get it!”
“Why don’t you set up a casual dinner for the three of us next month?” He scrolled through the calendar app on his iPhone. “I’m scheduled to arrive on Saturday the Sixteenth. See if he can go with you to pick me up at the airport and we can eat at the hotel.”
“That would be dope,” I replied. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you. He’s hungry and deserves a chance. As long as you and I both agree to start him out small and slow,” I added.
“You’ve got a soft heart and an eye for talent, ‘Brón.”
I looked at my watch. It was pushing ten o’clock. “Alright, lemme get outta here. Want to give me a ride back to my house?”
“Pa gen problem,” Hopeton replied. “I’ll close up quickly.”
Once we were in the car, I remembered my burning question from the day before.
“Hopeton,” I asked, “how did my mother get your phone number?”
