At my side were Orlando, Harris, and Sihad, a trusted soldier. In all honesty, I didn’t want Harris there. His attitude about what we had to do lately had me on guard, but Orlando insisted, because Harris was the one who had brokered the meeting. Orlando had also taken it upon himself to send Paris out of town, due to her unpredictable nature. I’d kept Junior away as a precaution, but he wasn’t far. I had him waiting nearby with his boys, in case the man I was meeting had plans to suddenly increase his numbers beyond the five who accompanied him per the ground rules. It wouldn’t be the first time he had broken the rules, and I wasn’t going to get caught out there.
Our relationship was fragile, to say the least. We’d had some minor business dealings together over the years, and we shared some mutual enemies. There was an understanding that we would leave each other alone, allowing us to conduct our businesses without interference.
Our groups stood face-to-face inside the service bay of my flagship dealership, nothing but tension, disdain, and opportunity sharing the space between us.
“And yet here we are, old friend,” said the nattily clad Italian, whose very voice left a bad taste in my mouth. Sal Dash, the owner of Dash Realty, and his entourage, mostly armed goombahs, had dared to step foot in Jamaica, Queens, rather than scurrying around the other boroughs like cockroaches on the perimeter. I’d closed the dealership down early and sent my employees home with pay, using inventory as an excuse, so we’d be undisturbed and unobserved.
“Harris tells me you wanted to talk. So. Talk,” I urged. Both of us had lost good people in our last flare-up, so it took a lot of self-control not to order a hail of bullets to be pumped into him and his crew on the spot. Still, his daring to meet with me on my terms spoke louder than any gunshot. Sal was either scared, crazy, or desperate.
“We might have a mutual problem,” he said.
“No problems other than a need for more customers on these streets,” I joked. While almost all of us laughed, Harris seemed fidgety, never comfortable with discussing our major source of cash flow. Staying a step or so removed from the nitty-gritty had always worked in both our interests. Still, I made a mental note to keep an eye on my son-in-law in Dash’s presence, to see if anything else should give me reason to be concerned. Something about his demeanor this time didn’t seem quite right.
“I think our mutual problems might lie not with customers, but with product—and its delivery. Capisce?”
“Yeah. I think so. Know anything about an item I’m missing, Sal?” I asked, tired of avoiding the obvious with this Sicilian fuck.
“Only what my people report back to me. Hearsay.”
“And what have they heard?”
“Heard the men who killed your little Dominican Pablo were Spanish-speaking too, but not from around here. Maybe a similar accent is associated with whatever it is you’re missing. Hear that maybe this Pablo had some kind of deal with these folks, but suddenly he wasn’t useful.”
“That’s a big stretch with no proof,” I said, while admittedly intrigued. I needed to end this rumor immediately. If word got out that my men had started making deals behind my back, that would be a sign of weakness, and everyone would start gunning for my operation. This whole situation could turn into an even bigger problem if what Dash was saying was true.
“Unless you have a little more involvement than just hearing things from the sidelines,” Orlando said, entering the discussion to Dash’s annoyance. “Someone tried to kill my father the other day. They were white boys pretending to be Feds. No Spanish accents at all. Know anything about that? I mean... since you’re in such a helpful mood.”
One of Sal’s men, who commanded respect by virtue of his proximity to Sal, tried to stifle a laugh after Orlando spoke. I could not tolerate rudeness and disrespect aimed toward my son on my turf.
“What’s so fucking funny?” I asked him.
The arrogant one exchanged looks with Sal rather than acknowledge me. Another strike against him. One more and bullets would start to fly.
“Control your pup before I put him down,” I said to Sal.