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My Kind of Town Don Chapman |
Scared speechless
>> Aiea
It's as true in the crime biz as any other biz: Sometimes who you know is more important than what you know. Fortunately for Seth and his cousins Tai and Wili, they had a friend who lived at the same complex where one of their targets lived. They'd been there before, on business. This time business would be of a rather different nature.
Being known, having a friend there, was crucial because the residents of the low-rise apartments were territorial in the extreme. When a strange car pulled in, you could feel the eyes, hear the chatter, like monkeys in a tree when a tiger or snake approaches. And those were just the residents worried about their own health and welfare.
Then there were the professional eyes, those involved in dealing a pharmucopia of illegal drugs, on the lookout for both customers and potential rivals. They were not unlike the Iraqi Islamathugs who take up arms in mosques, schools and residential areas. When that happens, darn right innocent lives will be lost. It happened here on the day the cute kid was taken away and beaten to death.
Seth, Tai and Wili came to this ugly collection of concrete and glass -- proof that the quality of human activity rises or sinks according to the quality of the architecture in which we live and work -- to avenge her death.
Seth, Tai and Wili came to this ugly collection of concrete and glass -- proof that the quality of human activity rises or sinks according to the quality of the architecture in which we live and work -- to avenge her death.
Tai called ahead, Johnny Casino was home, in street code he indicated he could put them in contact with several products, and at a price that would make resale profitable. Johnny wasn't a dealer himself, he was a facilitator, a broker, an agent. He brought people together, took a cut in cash, drugs or sex.
Soon they were pulling into the complex and heads were turning in doorways and windows, assessing the potential threat. Everybody here knew who the criminals were, knew what they did. But like the new convict who once lived here, they were scared and kept their mouths shut, hoping they wouldn't be one of the innocents lost.
Among the hoodlums who resided here was the new convict's cousin. He was one of those guys who was in the crime business as much for profit as for pleasure. One of those activities was dealing. Johnny had helped Seth, Tai and Wili buy pakalolo, ice and heroin from him in the past. Johnny welcomed them into his apartment, decorated mostly with posters of rappers.
"I like the new Beyoncé," Tai said approvingly, then got right to business. "Da kine Mario had last time was killer. He got any more?"
"Out, but he's supposed to be getting some new stuff any time," Johnny said, keeping an eye on the window. "Eh, good timing. I think this is it."
Wili glanced outside. Their second target, the mystery man never identified at the new convict's trial, had arrived.
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Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com