The following week, Mundo turned up on payday, some random youngster in tow.
“Hello, young man,” I said to the friend. “Is this your new employee?” I asked Olmando.
“Very funny, Hopeton,” Mundo laughed. “This is Biz, my guy who’s riding around with me.”
“Hello, Biz,” I said, trying to get a read on the kid standing before me.
I quickly looked him up and down. Short, fat and goofy looking. Possibly some latent potential for chaos. But more importantly, he looked Bed Stuy in a way Mundo would never be able to pull off. And Mundo needed that type of insurance.
“How’s it going?” Biz replied. I couldn’t catch any hint of an accent in his voice. Definitely a neighborhood kid.
“It’s going well, thank you for asking. So, you’ve been riding around with Mundo?”
“Yeah, whenever he calls me.”
“And can you drive?” I asked.
Biz shook his head. “Nah.”
“So, you’re muscle?” I probed.
Biz shrugged his shoulders and looked at Mundo.
Mundo played dumb.
“Well, whatever you gentlemen work out, just make sure this one pays you each week,” I said, jerking my thumb at Mundo.
“Actually, Hopeton,” Mundo said, sliding back into the conversation, “Biz and I are working on something that we think you might be interested in. You have time to talk to us?”
I glanced at my watch.
“Office hours are over for the day,” I said, handing Mundo his pay envelope. “Come back next week.”
Mundo and Biz turned to leave.
“And don’t forget to have your boss break you off your salary,” I called out to Biz.
Biz gave a thumbs up. Mundo scowled.
They left.
I remained at the front of the store, organizing petty cash receipts and listening to 1010 WINS.
Pierre showed up an hour or so later.
“Where you coming from?” I asked, as I handed him his pay envelope.
“Dealing with those Senegalese over on One Four Five,” he replied.
“How’d they handle it?”
As I’d predicted, Bolo’s people in South America had hit a snag and our order was late. Things were tense everywhere, and I’d sent Pierre uptown to try and smooth things over with some of our higher profile associates.
“They’ll be okay,” he reassured me. “Just need to tell Bolo this can’t be a regular thing.”
“I’ll handle Bolo,” I said, ending the conversation.
Pierre turned to leave.
“Wait a minute,” I called. “I need to show you something. Let’s lock this place up then we can head out.”
Once the gates were pulled down and secured, I turned to my right and unlocked the front door next to PanStar.
Pierre looked confused but kept his mouth shut.
“Follow me,” I told him, as I started climbing the creaky set of stairs that led to the apartments over PanStar. It took a while to get to the top floor, but we made it.
I pulled out the key to my former living quarters and unlocked the door. I told Pierre to enter.
“You said you need a room to rent,” I said. “Was this what you had in mind?”
Pierre did a slow 360, taking in the shabby, little space, completely bare aside from the security monitor perched on a blue plastic shipping barrel.
“Look,” I said, pointing to the ancient stove and refrigerator. “It even has a kitchen!”
“You want me to live above PanStar?” Pierre asked.
“No, I don’t want you to live above PanStar,” I replied. “But you asked me if I knew of anyone who had a room for rent, and this is a room.”
“What’s the catch?” Pierre asked.
“No catch, really,” I said. “You can pay me $350 on the first of each month. Gas and electricity are included.”
“And?” Pierre wasn’t stupid. He knew there had to be more.
“And you’re responsible for PanStar during off hours. You’ll have to keep that monitor on twenty-four/seven and you’ll have to pay attention to it. If any shit goes down, you’re responsible.”
“I figured that was part of the deal,” Cabrón said. “That monitor is the only thing in here and I know you won’t let me toss it once I move my bed in.”
I nodded.
“And what else?” he asked me.
“No girls, no partying, no Mundo,” I said. “No one over here at all- ever. You sleep here, you shower here and you study here, once you finally get around to getting your ass into grad school. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Pierre said. “If that’s really it, I’ll take it.”
He reached out to shake my hand.
“When can I move in?” he asked.
“First of the month,” I told him. “And don’t forget you’ll have to give me a money order for three fifty before I hand over the keys.”
