CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
2008 - We Ah Go Hang Dem
My head was still swimming, but I no longer felt wasted. With very few words, Hopeton had just dropped a metric ton of backstory on the floor all the while letting me know that, for me, Panama was unavoidable.
“Come on, get up. You’re drunk,” Hopeton said, pulling me off the couch. “We need to get some food in you.”
“What time is it?” I asked, as I straightened my baseball hat and bent down to put my boots back on.
“Six o’clock,” Hopeton replied. “Dinner time.”
Before I knew it, we were standing on the sidewalk, Hopeton locking PanStar up for the night. The humid July air hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe Timberlands hadn’t been that good an idea.
“Gimme your keys,” Hopeton called to me. “I’ll drive.”
I threw him the keys.
“Your drunk ass is in luck- I took a car service to work today.”
Hopeton slid the seat forward, adjusting it down from my 6'1" position to something more accommodating of his 5'10" frame. Next up, he flipped through my CD changer, rejecting Jeezy, Nas, Jay Z and Rick Ross, before settling on a Mavado mixtape CD.
He put the zo reken in Drive and said, “Let’s roll!”
I closed my eyes and let Mavado’s gunman lullabies rock me to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, Hopeton shook me awake. “We’re here!”
I opened my eyes and tried to figure out where the fuck we were.
“Court street?” I asked.
Hopeton nodded.
“Ha,” I laughed. “I used to love this neighborhood.”
We walked a few blocks over to this restaurant, Frankie’s 457. I’d heard about it but hadn’t bothered to check it out. To be honest, I hadn’t bothered to check anything out since I’d gotten home from Fort Dix. My world had gotten smaller, and I had a feeling Hopeton recognized it was time to help me snap out of it.
The hostess gave us a warm greeting and sat us outside in the garden, per Hopeton’s request. We were seated at a quiet table off to the side, just the way Hopeton preferred. I looked around and could imagine that the inevitable dinner time rush would soon be upon us. I may have been out of the loop for a while, but in Brooklyn, some things never changed.
When the waiter arrived to take our drink order, Hopeton asked for two Camparis and club soda, “with a lime twist” and a bottle of the house Chianti.
I’d never had Campari before, but if Hopeton was ordering, I’m sure I’d enjoy it.
“You cool if I order a bunch of food for the table?” Hopeton asked. “The cavatelli and sausage is a must.”
“You do you, bredren,” I replied. “I’m just along for the ride.”
The two of us spent nearly three hours eating, drinking, and most importantly, getting me up to speed on where the two of us were in this world that I was trying to loop myself back into.
“Alright,” Hopeton said as our meal was cleared and tiny cups of espresso and plates of home made biscotti were placed in before us, “What do you want to know? What do you think I’ve been holding from you?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” I said, as plainly as possible. “I get ‘PanStar as cambio.’ That keeps the physical space viable- I know you don’t want Mundo to start making noises about selling the building just yet. It keeps Biz occupied in between real estate flips. And I’m sure it’s less physically demanding and way, way more financially rewarding than running a shipping barrel center.”
Hopeton nodded and steepled his fingertips and pushed them up under his chin. We were clearly back in Bond villain territory. That meant I was on the right track.
“So, the things I don’t know,” I continued, “are where does Bolo fit into all of this? Is he really out of the game for good? Do we need to keep cutting him in on the profits? And where is Mundo? I know his ass has got to be nosing around all of this. Is he trying to find a way back in to Brooklyn or is he just happy with the money?”
Hopeton, nodded and gave a look that clearly said, “Go on. Follow through on this line of questioning please.”
Oh man, this was fun! It felt like I was using muscles I’d forgotten about. Fuck me, I’d missed this petty “reasoning with the crew” shit. Now I understood why father had been so insistent we play chess every night back when I was staying at the house.
I dive back in. “And what is PanStar fronting for now? Where is the real money flowing from? What’s the grey zone, Hopeton?”
Hopeton smiled, called the waiter over and ordered two glasses of port.
I never did get all of my questions answered that night. Hopeton gave me just enough info to feel grounded but not enough to set me to spinning out.
Bolo really was gone. In order to shake themselves free of future obligation, Hopeton and Mundo had both had to pay him a “consulting” fee. This kinda sorta placed Hopeton and Mundo in an awkward partnership position that neither of them was interested in, “but we’re sorting that all out now,” Hopeton said.
For now, Mundo was willing to play silent partner, collecting monthly money from all of Hopeton’s U.S.-based endeavors, “but he’s sniffing around again. I don’t think he’s going to be able to keep away from Brooklyn, as long as you and I are both here together.
I waited for Hopeton’s big reveal. Hopeton picked up his glass, took a measured sip of port and stared off into the distance. I rolled my eyes.
“Fre’m!” I said, a note of urgency in my voice. “Don’t leave me hanging! What’s the grey zone?”
Hopeton, pulled focus back to me.
“Panama, Cabrón,” he replied. “The grey zone is in Panama. Mundo has no idea what I’m doing down there. Bolo never knew either. I’ve been working on it for years.”
He paused again and took another sip of port.
“Panama,” I said. “Fuck. Why, Hopeton?”
“When the time comes, you’ll understand,” he replied. “But when Mundo tries to pull you back to his side, I’m going to need you to go. And your employer, Mr. Henriques, has been waiting for this moment to come, quite honestly.”
I took my hat off for a minute and ran my hand through my hair.
“I never thought I’d be glad to have another six months until I was allowed to go anywhere,” I said with a dry laugh.
“Well, let me ask you a question, Pierre,” Hopeton said.
I signaled the waiter and ordered a Peroni.
“Yes, Hopeton? What is your question?”
“Why are you so obsessed with getting back in when you’ve been in the entire time?”
