My sister approached me in late June and said she’d been saving up to find her own apartment.
“I think it’s time that I take Yasmin and get something for the two of us,” she told me. “It’s not that we haven’t loved staying with you, but I think we’re ready to settle into our own place.”
“I’m sure you don’t need me to say this, but you never have to leave if you don’t want to,” I said.
“I know,” my sister replied. “But you made it too easy for us- Yasmin needs to see what it’s like to have to start from scratch.”
“She’ll be ready to start her own family before too long,” I said. “Some man will snap her up.”
Yasmin had been thoroughly enjoying her time at Brooklyn College. The campus was beautiful and her social life was booming. My niece was everything I’d hoped she’d become.
But I understood my sister’s desire to get out on her own again. Once I’d established myself in Brooklyn, I’d made sure to provide for her financially, but ever since the death of my brother-in-law, when Yasmin was an infant and before I’d even left Jamaica, my sister and niece had solely operated as a unit of two. Coming to America had afforded them a comfortable house in an area that was culturally legible, but that would never replace the feeling of self-direction and autonomy that I could tell both were ready to embrace.
“Do you think you could hold on here until fall?” I asked. “September or October? I want to spend August back home, and I’d feel better knowing the two of you were here while I was gone.”
“Back home in Jamaica?” Hetty asked.
“What other home do we have?” I replied. “I need to get back to Content Gap, and see what turns up from there.”
Hetty agreed to hold off on apartment hunting for a few months.
“It’s no pressure,” she said. “I just want to feel like I’m carrying my own weight.”
I just shook my head at her. My sister and I were always in sync, even when our paths diverged.
I made sure to do my rounds before I advanced my travel plans.
I advised Bolo of my intentions and let him know I was going to do one quick trip down to Panama City to check in with him before I went off grid for a month.
“I think it’s the right time to start talking about Pivot Number Three,” I told him. “Please block some time off your calendar for me.”
Rafael promised to do as I’d requested.
Once I’d gotten that sorted, I gave Cabrón a call and asked if he’d have time to meet me for dinner.
“Yeah man, most def,” Pierre said. “What’s the deal? What day? What time? What place? Lemme know.”
Pierre had his second pass at his GRE test coming up in August, so I’d been leaving him to himself. But I knew it wouldn’t break his stride to have one dinner with me. And I wanted to let him know of my plans before details were finalized.
“Want to do something crazy and go into Manhattan?” I asked.
“An interesting suggestion,” Pierre said. “How about Restaurant Felix over on West Broadway? You can swing by Clermont at 9 o’clock on Thursday, come pick me up and we can catch the end of the late-night crowd.”
I wasn’t quite sure what exactly Cabrón was talking about, but agreed to meet him over in Clinton Hill on Thursday night.
I pulled up to Clermont Avenue in my new BMW 740i. Cabrón was standing on the stoop, dressed in his finest upscale Caribbean Professional garb- a loose collared linen shirt, a barely visible gold rope chain and tan trousers. I glanced at his footwear- red soled, nubuck oxfords.
This kid was a trip. He was going to be a very interesting old man.
Cabrón bounded down the steps and jumped into the passenger seat.
I had Buju Banton playing at top volume.
Let Jah rise and the heathen scatter
Have to give thanks and praises no matter
Even if the flames is getting hotter & hotter
Everybody shoulda know I don't believe inna rumor
“I know you’re not really tryina let me know what’s going on behind the scenes,” Pierre started in, “but I need you to tell me if my face man duties are wrapping up any time soon.”
“You’re ready to be done with it,” I noted.
“Very much so,” Pierre agreed.
I decided to give Cabrón one small piece of the puzzle. It wouldn’t do any good to leave him dangling completely.
“I’m meeting with Bolo in a few weeks,” I said. “He knows I’m ready to start talking about the next pivot. And I’m also going to tell him to stop sending shipments through. We have more than enough to last us until the end of the year.”
“So, no more business lunches with questionable characters?” Pierre asked.
“Probably not,” I replied. “Unless Bolo lines up an undeniable offer, you should be done with the sales calls.”
Cabrón said he was relieved to hear it.
“Anyway, we have something going on that’s bringing in real money,” I told him. “And Bolo doesn’t even know it exists.”
I turned down the volume on Buju and proceeded to let Pierre in on the details of the ATM scheme. He’d fallen completely out of the loop, having been so M.I.A. since February.
“I was wondering where the hell they’ve been,” Pierre said, as I started to explain Operation Skim ‘n Dip.
Cabrón sat with his mouth open as I laid out each step. He had no idea what Biz and Lucci had gotten up to independently.
I saw his expression and laughed.
“And I’m not even telling you half the things these kids need to do to make sure this goes off properly,” I said. “I’m just giving you the highlights.”
“And is this sustainable?” Pierre asked.
I shrugged.
“Probably for a while. At least until the cops get onto it. But for now, those kids are bringing in up to $50k a week, before payroll, expenses and whatever they need to hand over to me.”
Cabrón gave a low whistle.
“Fuckin’ Biz- I always knew he’d wind up the richest man in the crew,” he said in a tone mixed with pride and envy. “And you’re not cutting Bolo in? Nothing?”
I shook my head, but refused to comment any further.
A week or so later, I bought my ticket to Panama City. I planned to be out there starting July Fourth, and back the following week. Bolo and Mano had both been alerted to my imminent arrival.
Biz got in touch with me a few days before my departure, and asked if he could stop by PanStar to talk to me about something.
“Is it business related?” I asked.
“Of course, Hopeton,” Biz replied. “It is business related.”
“Will Lucci be joining us? And do we need to invite Pierre?”
“No, Hopeton,” Biz said. “We don’t need either of them there. I just want to talk to you about something alone.”
I named a Jamaican restaurant located on Nostrand Avenue somewhere between Crown Heights and Flatbush.
“Meet me at three o’clock, tomorrow,” I told him.
“Could we meet at PanStar?” Biz asked. “I want to walk you through a few things and I need to talk to you about something that has to do with PanStar.”
I reluctantly agreed.
The next day, Biz showed up five minutes early, a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
I buzzed him in.
We conducted our meeting in the front part of the store, using the checkout counter as a makeshift desk.
“Before you ask me the purpose of my visit,” Biz began, subtly mocking my style of speech, “I just wanna tell you that I know you still don’t really trust me- which is fine! But that means you gotta have Brón check my work then you gotta meet with Brón to check his work, which is even more work for you.”
I nodded.
“And more work for Brón,” he added. “And Brón isn’t even around anymore- which is fine! I don’t even need him to check my work like that. Sooo…”
“Okay, Biz, I’m following,” I told him. “Just get to the point. What do you want?”
Biz unzipped his bag, pulled out his laptop and hit the power button.
“I wanna formally ask you if I can review my work directly with you and not Cabrón,” he said.
I had to admit to myself that the kid had come prepared with the one argument that would allow him greater direct access to PanStar. My biggest fear was that once I let Biz in, Lucci would follow and before I knew it, they’d be working their hardest to re-create their dearly departed HQ, but with cable TV and a beer fridge. But Pierre had successfully helped me solve a labor problem. And I couldn’t reasonably expect him to stick around this ongoing criminal enterprise just to manage a single, entry-level employee.
“Alright,” I agreed. “But there’s going to be a strict work schedule and standard operating procedures for you to follow.”
“I can handle that,” Biz promised.
“And there may be a few additional tasks I’ll ask you to pick up,” I said. “But we can get to that once we know you’re going to stick around.”
Biz and I both knew he’d do his damndest to try and stick around.
