Diamonds and Pearl (14 page)

“These aren't just shooters I'm talking about—they're a death squad,” TJ said seriously.

“Sounds like some bad-ass muthafuckas,” Blanco said sarcastically. He was a tall, pale albino with white hair that he wore in a buzz cut. Blanco had been leery of the plan since TJ had presented it. He didn't like working with new people, especially Blacks.

“I wouldn't disrespect Eddie by bringing anyone to the table who was less than official,” TJ capped. “These people lost their whole city and damn near everyone and everything they loved. They got nothing else to lose or to live for except profit. All we need from you is to make sure that Michael turns the other cheek when they lace this nigga's boots.”

Michael was the plug. He provided Eddie as well as several other prominent hustlers with dope and coke. There weren't many drug transactions that went on in the five boroughs that Michael didn't see a few coins off of. In addition to being his supplier, he was Eddie's uncle.

“See, this changes the playing field. My uncle might not like that arrogant son of a bitch Pana any more than I do, but he knows playing a part in Pana's execution will cause a major headache. Pana is a piece of shit, but he's a well-connected piece of shit. Some of our friends who owe him favors south of the border might be offended if he turns up dead. I don't see my uncle risking that type of headache, unless of course there was some compensation offered.”

TJ smiled. “My people thought you might feel that way, so I've got it on good authority that if your uncle looks the other way on this, his pockets will be seventy-five grand heavier.” TJ saw the twitch in Eddie's right eye at the mention of the money.

“TJ, you know my uncle; his money is longer than both ours and Pana's.” Eddie watched TJ to see how he would respond.

“We know that, Eddie. But we also know that with a nigga like Michael, it's more about the nobility of the gesture. For even offering, he'll recognize us as stand-up guys.”

“And what do I get for my part?”

TJ smiled broadly. “Eddie, you win all the way around the board. Look, when Pana is dust, the lane is gonna be wide open for you. All they want in return for eliminating your problem is free reign over Pana's territory and a nice discount on the dope and cocaine we'll be buying exclusively from you and your people. All you gotta do is fall back and collect your money.”

Eddie regarded him. “TJ, I can get anybody to move drugs for me. What makes your people so special that I should give them Pana's blocks?”

“Because these ain't your everyday hustlers. Eddie, these guys are like locusts on crank. When my cousin and his crew hit a town, they swarm in like locusts and devour everything in sight.”

“And what you say the ring leader's name was again?” Blanco asked suspiciously.

“They call him Diamonds,” TJ said proudly.

“Yeah, I think I've heard of him,” Blanco said in a less-than-thrilled tone. “He's supposed to be some kind of witch doctor.”

“Diamonds is what you would call a spiritual man,” TJ said modestly.

Blanco snorted. “I hear he's more than that. There are some who say he's protected by the devil and can't be killed.” He recalled some of the stories he'd heard about the young upstart from the swamps.

“
Anyone
can be killed,” Eddie said confidently. “Now, for the sake of argument, let's say your people are successful in taking Pana down. There will still be those who are loyal to him, even if only in memory. That could cause some nasty fallout.”

TJ couldn't stifle his laugh. “Eddie, with all due respect, you obviously haven't been listening to anything I've said. When these muthafuckas hit a town, it's like a swarm of locusts, gobbling up everything in their path. Alexandria, Houston, Fort Worth, and several cities in Florida are still trying to heal from the wet bites they took out of their asses. By now I'm sure you've spoken to our mutual friend in Orlando, and he's confirmed everything I'm telling you about these cats.”

Indeed, Eddie had spoken to the man in Orlando, who'd told him a story so gruesome that thinking about it made him shiver. Just as TJ claimed, Diamonds and his crew had been eating a path through cities out West and now up the East Coast. They'd established themselves in Miami and had started branching off into neighboring cities, including Orlando. Most rolled over and got out of their way, but there was a man in Orlando who decided he wouldn't be muscled by the roving bandits. He sent Diamonds a message by putting a price on Diamonds's head, but when the assassination attempt failed, Diamonds sent a response to his message that was heard in the underworld circles throughout the country. Days after the botched assassination attempt, the police found the mauled remains of not only the man who had put the price on Diamonds but his family as well. They had been cut open and tied to trees for the gators to finish off. The youngest victim was a child of nine years old. Word got out, and it was clear that any man who would feed an entire family to alligators wasn't someone you wanted to fuck with.

Eddie thought long and hard on it. He was skeptical, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to have such savage killers as allies. They would instantly make him a power player in the New York City drug trade. Michael wouldn't be happy about it, but so long as it was quick and clean, he would get over it. “Okay, TJ. Do what you gotta do, but if this comes back on me, I'm going to deny any knowledge of what you were up to and put a bullet in your head personally.”

“Don't worry, Eddie. My boys are professionals. You don't have anything to worry about,” TJ promised. He took out his phone and began composing a text message.

“So how long do you think you'll need to pull this off?” Eddie asked, still unsure if he had made the right decision.

“Not long.” TJ hit send on the text. “Not long at all.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bonita's was a very nondescript-looking place that sat on 161st Street between Amsterdam and Broadway. It wasn't very big and its furniture was out-of-date, but Bonita's boasted some of the best Mexican food in the five boroughs. During the day it was a place where you could bring your family to get a good meal with an ethnic feel, but when the sun went down, they rolled out their makeshift bar and let the good times roll.

It was still fairly early in the evening, so the dinner crowd was only just starting to filter in. There were a few people eating at the counter and a few more sprinkled in the booths on the floor, but there weren't many people there yet besides some of the regulars.

At a table in the rear, hunched over a large steak, was a squarely built Mexican man. Between bites of the steak, he was saying something to the two men sitting with him and raining food all over the table. The two men listened intently, as if he were revealing to them the theory of relativity. Two waitresses and a manager moved in rotation, constantly checking with the man to see if he needed anything else. Pana Suarez was an important man, and everyone north of 135th Street knew it.

Bonita's was only one of many establishments where he received that kind of love. Pana had his hands in everywhere from restaurants to corner bodegas. For a small taste, Pana would make sure your business ran smoothly and keep the wolves off your back. Probably because when the wolves came, he was likely the one who sent them. There was no doubt that Pana received more than his share of love, but he prided himself on being feared.

As usual, he was dressed in a sharkskin suit, his shoes polished to a high shine, and no socks. Beneath it he sported a horrid banana-yellow shirt, unbuttoned at the top so you could see the multiple gold chains lying over his nappy chest hair. He looked like an extra in the movie
Scarface,
and fancied himself just as wild a cowboy as the infamous Tony Montana.

Bonita, the owner of the spot, came out from the kitchen and strolled over to Pana's table. She was an older Spanish chick who still had a body to rival those of a lot of girls much younger than she. Her golden-brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun that leaned to one side. The gold hot pants she wore made a swooshing sound when she walked and her thick thighs rubbed together.

“Pana, baby, you need anything else?” Bonita asked in a heavy accent.

He paused from chastising his men, his face softening when he replied. “No, thank you. I gotta get outta here in a few.”

“Okay, papi. I'm going in the back to watch my soaps. If you need something, Miguel will get it for you.” She nodded at a teenage boy who was lounging behind the counter. After giving Miguel some last-minute instructions, Bonita swished to the door marked
PRIVATE
and disappeared inside.

“Mommy still got it,” remarked the man sitting closest to Pana. He was thin and sported a five-o'clock shadow along his tanned jaw.

“And the pussy is as sweet as a spring bloom.” Pana smirked, remembering the last time he'd bedded Bonita.

“You hit that?” the second man with Pana asked in surprise. He was a chubby pale fellow and new to the crew.

“We do a little something from time to time,” Pana said, as if it were no big deal.

“You the man, boss!” the chubby man praised him.

Across the room, a cell phone blared so loud that it got Pana's attention. He looked up and saw an older black man sitting at the counter and eating a bowl of soup. He was dressed in an off-the-rack brown suit and shoes of the same color, their heels worn. At his feet rested a black briefcase. He paused his slurping and retrieved a cell phone from his pocket, and then spoke for a few seconds with whoever was on the other end before hanging up and slipping the phone back into his pocket.

Pana watched curiously as the man with the loud cell phone dabbed his mouth with a napkin and slid off the stool. When he turned, he could see his face clearly. He was an older gentleman with hard eyes. He walked calmly in Pana's direction, but before he could get too close, the men who had been sitting with Pana were on their feet, guns drawn and ready.

“Something you need?” the tall one with the five-o'clock shadow asked in a hostile tone.

The man was clearly frightened but managed to find his voice. “I was just going to the bathroom.” He pointed to the restrooms, which were just beyond Pana's table.

Pana looked over his shoulder at the doors to the restrooms, then turned back to the man and glared at him for a long moment. When he was satisfied that the man posed no immediate threat, he waved his men off. “You guys, relax. You're too fucking tense.”

The two men stared at the stranger for a while longer before doing as they were told and backing off.

On shaky legs, the man skirted between the two men past Pana's table. He kept looking back over his shoulder like he was afraid they might renege on their pass and jump on him. He was so shook that he decided to skip the bathroom and leave the restaurant altogether.

“Fucking pussy.” The chubby one laughed at the fleeing black man.

“Some guys have no balls.” Pana chuckled, digging into his pants pocket for his bank roll. He peeled off fifty dollars and dropped the bills onto the table. Pana's meal was free, but the tip was for Miguel. He liked the young boy and always made sure he had a few dollars in his pocket. In another year or so he would be ripe for recruiting, and Pana planned to add him to his ranks.

The money had barely touched the table before Miguel swooped in and took it. He wanted to get to it before one of the other staff members stole it. He thanked Pana for the money before clearing the abandoned dishes off the table. The dinner rush would be in full swing soon, and Bonita liked for them to be prepared.

“Let's get out of here. I got some shit I need to handle later on,” Pana told his men, and started for the door. He stopped short when heard Miguel's voice. He was walking toward them, holding a briefcase.

“Señor Pana, that
negro
forgot his briefcase!” Miguel announced.

Pana's brain froze for a half second, as if he were trying to decipher what Miguel was saying, but when he hit the play button again, panic clutched his heart. Without saying a word, Pana turned and bolted for the exit.

Pana had barely cleared the door before there was a loud boom, followed by a fireball engulfing Bonita's. Miguel was lucky—he died instantly from the blast—but the chubby man who had been with Pana wasn't as fortunate. He stumbled from the rubble of the ruined doorway, screaming as fire ate away at his skin and clothes.

Pana laid facedown in the street, dizzy from the force of the blast and trying to regain his wits. A shadow fell over him, causing him to look up. Much to his surprise, he found the stranger from the restaurant standing over him. He was no longer cowering, but grinning triumphantly and pointing a .45 at him.

A split second before the bullet struck the ground where Pana's head had been, he rolled to his left and was on his feet, drawing his 9mm from his waist. He was getting on in years, but he was still a seasoned killer and moved as such when he needed to. Pana blasted away with the 9mm while running for cover. Pana dashed toward an alley, but he found that route cut off when a second man stepped from the shadows. He was wearing a ski mask over his face, but Pana could see, behind the man's sneering lips, what looked like diamonds in his mouth. Pana scurried in the other direction, trying to dip across the street, but he found that exit cut off by two more men wearing masks. He was trapped between a quartet of killers.

Pana's head whipped back and forth nervously as the four men closed in on him. He figured he could take two of them out, three if he were lucky, but his chances of surviving the ambush were slim to none. Just then fate threw him a bone, and there was an additional gun added to the skirmish.

The tall man with the five-o'clock shadow came staggering down the street, firing his pistol. His face was badly burned and smoke rose from his clothes, but he still had some fight left in him. He fired shot after shot, but his wounds made his aim unsteady, and most of the slugs missed their targets by a wide berth.