I WAS GOING through the motions. Playing out the string. Not waiting for full bloom, like I had been all my life. Full bloom had come to me. Just for a visit.
Jacques called me at Mama's. He's a gun dealer, runs a sweet little operation out of a rib joint in Bed-Stuy. I found a pay phone, called him back.
"I have a client for some of my heating units, mahn"- his West Indian accent singing over the line.
"So why call me?"
"This client, he's one of those Haitians, mahn. Spooky, you know. All that zombie-talk…"
"Yeah." There's an army of Haitians between Brooklyn and Queens, waiting for the day when they take back their land from the Tonton Macoutes. They don't fear the living, but Papa Doc's spirit still frightens their children.
"I don't travel, mahn. You know this. And they don't come to my place. I need a traveling man."
"I'm not doing any deliveries."
"Of course not, mahn. You know how this works. You go there, they pay you. You call me. I tell them where to pick up the units."
"And I wait with them while they send someone to do the pickup?"
"Sure."
"How much you paying hostages these days?"
"Oh, mahn, do not speak like this. Nobody going to cause trouble. These are not drug dealers, you understand?"
"Sure."
"Let us do business, mahn. Good business for me, good business for you."
"How good?"
"Couple of hours of your time, say…five?"
"Okay."
"Yes?"
"I'll see you in a couple of days," I told him, hanging up.
I heard the surprise in Jacques's voice. A deal like this had to net him six figures, and I was going cheap. But I had a secret he didn't know about. I didn't give a fuck.