No More Tears In The End

Angee’s facial expression changed. He put down his glass and looked at me. “You know, until you said his name, I forgot who he was and what that meant to you.”

“You are drunk.” Chicago was Cassandra’s father, and it was Angee who put me on to it ’cause I had no idea that they were related.

“I know that shit, Mikey.”

“You wanna hear this shit or not?”

Angee raised his glass. “Go ahead.”

“When we get to the spot, the guy won’t let us in.”

“Why not?”

“He said we looked too young to be in there, until Bobby said that Andre sent us. After that it was all good.”

Once we went in and sat down I asked Bobby, “What you tell him that for?”

“It got us in, right?” Bobby said. “And besides, Andre wants everybody to know it was him behind it.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic.

“Just relax. Have a drink and enjoy yourself,” Bobby said and stared at the lone naked dancer behind the bar. “You ain’t scared are you?”

“No! And don’t you start with me. I heard enough of that shit from Angelo.”

“Angelo.” Bobby shook his head. “Why you hangout with that guy anyway?” Bobby tolerates my friendship with Angee, but he never did like him, and wonders why I do.

“Angelo’s a good guy. Give him a chance. He’s gonna be a good guy to know,” I told Bobby that night and we waited.

It was two in the morning before the guys we were looking for got there. I tapped Bobby on the shoulder.

“You ready?” I asked and Bobby nodded.

We both put on gloves and stood up.

“Let’s do it,” Bobby said, and we walked toward them at the bar.

Once we were standing behind them, it was like time was standing still. I can’t speak for Bobby, and we never talked about it after it was done, but honestly, its one thing to talk shit about doin’ it, but pullin’ the trigger and blowin’ a hole in the back of somebody’s head is another. To that point, we had collected money and roughed up a few people, which was fun, but we were about to kill these muthafuckas.

We never even knew their names, much less who they were and what they had done for Andre to want them dead. But the time for thinkin’ was past; nothing to do then but pull and blast. I looked at Bobby, we pulled out our guns and we fired.

“What happened then?”

“What do you think happened? We dropped our gats and got the fuck outta there.”

“What you gonna do now?” Angee asked after another swallow.

“I’m gonna kill the corner of this Remy and get outta here.” I picked up the bottle and poured the last of the Remy into my glass, and maybe for the first time, was glad that Bobby made me get a driver.

He said that with all that we had goin’ on lately-muthafuckas tryin’ to kill me and shit-that I needed to have somebody with me at all times and he couldn’t always be there.

At first I resisted it. I don’t need no fuckin’ bodyguard. But I knew he was right, so I got a driver.

His name is Kevon. He used to work for Jamaica in the Bahamas. He drove me around on my last trip. I picked him because he didn’t know anybody in this country, so his loyalty to me and only me wouldn’t be a question.

“I’m talkin’ about this other DEA fuck. What’s his name?”

“Vinnelli.”