“Hey, man,” Damon greeted me as we slipped into his office, a twenty by twenty room jam-packed with computers and printers.
Damon was one of the East Coast’s best counterfeiters, and quite possibly the most successful in the world because of his approach. Most U.S. counterfeiters concentrated on making fake $20 and $100 dollar bills, but Damon’s specialty was foreign currency. He’d pretty much cornered the market on people looking for non-U.S. money. Our fathers had done business together for years before his pops died, but this was the first time I’d come to him for my own needs. Because of our personal history, he was willing to expand his services beyond counterfeit bills for me.
“My man.” We slapped our palms together in greeting. “You got everything we need?” I asked.
“Yeah. New identities, with passports and credit cards to match.” He held them up for me to see, but his eyes kind of glazed over and he looked away, which made me think he had something else on his mind. Damon had always been a little odd—a genius at what he did, but seriously lacking in social skills. I figured he was just uncomfortable about asking for his payment.
“Don’t worry. I got your money,” I said, motioning to Sonya. She opened her purse and handed over the large envelope containing his six-figure fee. Sure, it was a hell of a lot of money, but like I said, I was willing to do anything to be with my woman.
He looked down at the envelope and scrunched up his face. “It’s not that,” he said. “I just . . .” His voice faded away and he got that glazed-over look again. Dude was acting truly weird, and it was starting to piss me off.
“What, Damon? Just spit it out.”
“Just, well, I just didn’t think you’d go through with jumping town with what’s going on with your family.”
Damon usually stayed holed up in this dark room with all his computer equipment, so it hadn’t occurred to me that he would have heard any talk about our beef with Brother X and his crew.
“Shit, to be honest, that’s why we’re leaving,” I offered as an explanation. “With us gone, X should lose interest and back off my family.”
Damon didn’t say anything as he walked over to one of his desks and picked up a newspaper. I looked at Sonya, who was still holding the envelope full of cash, and shrugged. I probably should have prepared her for how weird this guy was before we came over here. When Damon brought the newspaper back to me, however, I realized that he wasn’t acting strange for no reason.
“This was five days ago, man. You didn’t know?”
“What the fuck!” I dropped the newspaper to the ground after I saw the headline: CAR DEALER SHOT IN LOT AMONGST LUXURY CARS. The room started spinning, and I had to lean against a nearby table to keep myself from falling over. How could I have misjudged the situation so badly? I thought that me and Sonya disappearing would stop the war from escalating, but it seemed to have done the opposite. And now Pop had been shot. Guilt ran through me like a knife to my heart.
Sonya came running to my side. She screamed when she saw what had set me off.
“Oh my God! He did it.” She started to cry.
I don’t know how we got out of there and into the car, but Sonya was behind the wheel as I started working the phone.
“O,” I shouted as Orlando picked up. “Is it true?”
“It’s bad. I ain’t gonna lie. It’s real bad.” He sounded as broken as I’d ever heard him, even more than when his baby mama took off with his son.
“Where is everyone?”
“We’re at the hospital,” he answered.
“So, he’s not dead?” I asked, sending up a split-second prayer that my father was still alive.
“Nah, but it’s not looking good,” he admitted.
“What hospital are you at? I’m coming.”
Sonya placed her hand on top of mine as she drove, offering me some of her strength.
“We’re at Long Island Jewish, but you can’t just show up here. There’s a bounty on your head.”
“Man, fuck that. I’m coming.”