Back in 1992, when Bolo first started making noises about leaving New York, I’d gone to one of my regular dominoes games, the one at the lumber yard in Canarsie, and had met a man who owned a security company.
For the past four years, Everton Reid had been supplying me with bonded guards who’d ride along whenever we were transporting particularly valuable cargo, or whenever we’d get a tip that stick up kids were out to tax. It was a reliable solution to a mobile problem, but now I needed to fortify our headquarters. I decided to stop by Everton’s office in June. I’d been putting off for too long by that point.
Ever-Sure Security Solutions had its office on the second floor of a building located in Restoration Plaza, over in Bedford Stuyvesant. I’d phoned ahead to make an appointment. Like PanStar, Everton’s office was not a place you just stepped up to, unannounced.
“Hopeton!” Everton greeted me with a hearty handshake and a clap on the shoulder. “Things are well by you, I trust?”
“Ah, you know. Tings is good, Ever,” I replied. “But I want to talk to you about a change in needs.”
“Let’s step into my office,” Everton replied.
Once settled, Everton pushed a button on an intercom and told his secretary to hold all calls. Ever was a busy man.
“How can I be of help?” he asked.
“Well, Ever, things are getting hectic. The in- and out- points are still solid- that’s not where the issue lies. But I’m getting a feeling that there’s something off in my storage area.”
Everton tilted his head and asked, “How so?”
I explained that the neighborhood was starting to change over. Gentrification was ushering in a new crowd. Streets were feeling unsettled and police presence was ratcheting up. PanStar never had much foot traffic, so that wasn’t what was making me nervous.
“But there’s something about directly opening up into the backyard that’s not sitting right with me right now,” I explained. “Maybe it’s just some man in the hills fuckery, but I really feel like I need to ramp up my internal security.”
At this point, Everton took it upon himself to ask me a series of questions.
Was I moving more product in and out than usual? No
Was I storing more product than usual? No, but my business partner was working on bulking up our inventory in preparation for “a rainy day.”
Had there been any recent break-ins along the avenue? No, but there’d been an increase of kids passing through the area. Drug crews were starting to beef over territory and the spillover tension was hitting the business district.
Was I still spending most of my time in the building? No, and that was the main issue- I needed to spend significantly less time in PanStar and I had no one to watch over it in my stead.
“Tell me what you think you need,” Ever said, “and then I’ll tell you if it lines up with what I think.”
“I think I need one guard stationed inside, at the back of the storage area, twenty-four hours a day,” I replied. “I’m more or less on site from three am to eight pm, but I’m going to need to dip in and out more than usual from now on.”
“Yes,” Everton nodded, “that lines up with what I was thinking. Twenty-four hour armed protection, in eight hour shifts. So, even if you are available, you’re not chained to that place like you’ve been chained.”
“Exactly!” I agreed.
“And if anything starts getting crazy or you have any new concerns, we can easily scale up with some additional manpower, even if it’s only temporary,” Ever added.
We shook on it and Everton told me he’d fax me the paperwork A.S.A.P.
All that was left was to tell Bolo we were going corporate.
