Three the Hard Way: A Play in Two Acts (3 page)

When I rolled outta bed, I noticed something else. "My back is killing me." I grabbed my back. I remembered going down hard a couple of times while I was fighting Crazy Joe. I wandered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I had a cut on my right cheek and under my left eye, and my bottom lip was a bit swollen. I shook my head and headed for the shower.

Now that I was dressed and ready, I went outside where Kevon was waiting. Kevon is my driver and bodyguard. He used to work for Jamaica in the Bahamas and drove me around when I was on the island. When my partner Bobby Ray insisted that I get a bodyguard, I picked Kevon because he didn’t know anybody in New York, so his loyalty to me and only me, wouldn’t be a question.

"Morning, boss; where to?" he asked as I joined him in the front seat of the Caddy CTS, until he saw my face. "What the fuck happened to your face?"

"I had a fight."

"I knew I should not have left you last night. And where was Monika while all this fighting was taking place?" Kevon asked.

"She was right there."

"And why she don’t shoot this man who did this to your face?"

"I told her not to interfere."

"And why was that?"

"I ever tell you about Crazy Joe?"

"I hear you mention him from time-to-time, but no, boss, you never tell me the story."

"Well, take me to Wanda’s office, and I’ll tell you all about it."

On the way downtown, I told Kevon all he needed to know about the history between me and Crazy Joe. Then I told him about the fight.

"Well, at least you kicked his ass. But I understand why you fellows call him Crazy Joe," Kevon said as they drove.

"Good, I’m glad you understand. Now, get Monika on the phone."

"You got it, boss." Kevon dialed the number and handed me the phone.

A still sleeping Monika answered the phone. "Hello."

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes. And I’m surprised you’re up so early. I thought you would sleep through the day for sure."

"I probably would have, but I have a meeting to go to this morning," I said as Kevon arrived at Wanda’s office. I got outta the car and walked ahead of Kevon. "What happened last night? After I put Joe in the cab and we got in your truck, I mean."

"You passed out."

"How did I get in the house? I know you ain’t strong enough to carry me."

"You were pretty fucked up, but you could walk. I made sure you made it inside the house and I put you to bed," Monika said; and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"You did?" I asked, remembering that I was naked when I woke up that morning.

"Well you got undressed by yourself and you got in the bed. After that, I left."

"And you and I didn’t—"

Monika laughed. "No, we didn’t. You invited me to join you but, no, we didn’t. I
was
tempted, ’cause your dick was rock hard."

"Why didn’t you?"

"Two reasons: One; you passed out as soon as you hit the bed. Two; I knew you wouldn’t remember it. And when you do get this, I don’t want you asking me what happened."

"You mean like I’m doin’ now?"

"Exactly. So you enjoy your meeting, and we’ll talk about this another time," Monika said and yawned. "Right now, I’m goin’ back to sleep."

"Goodbye, Monika."

After hanging up with Monika, me and Kevon made our way to Wanda’s office. Wanda Moore was the lawyer for the operation. She always wanted to be a lawyer, so I paid for her to go to law school. After briefly working for the district attorney as a prosecutor, Wanda went into private practice with one major client. At her best, Wanda was smart, careful, and just a bit ruthless.

As the years passed, Wanda managed the money; so much money that it had gotten to the point where we were making more money from our legitimate businesses. At that point, it became necessary for me to start taking more of an active role on the legitimate side of the house.

"Good morning, Wanda," I said when I walked into her office.

"Have a seat, Mike," Wanda said without looking up. Her eyes were glued to the computer screen reviewing the details of a proposed strategy for taking over some smaller companies, merging with others to form a larger company, and selling the company’s stock to the public. "I was just reviewing this presentation that Meka sent over."

"How does it look?"

"To be honest—what happened to your face?" Wanda asked, finally looking in my direction.

"I ran into an old friend last night."

"I’m almost afraid to ask who."

"Crazy Joe."

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"Well, what happened?"

"We fought for a while then we got drunk and talked about old times."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it."

"After all that talk about how he was gonna kill you, the two of you had a little fight and got drunk?"

"It was more than just a little fight. That mutha fucka is strong as hell. My back is killing me."

"You should see a doctor."

"I’ll be all right."

"Well, one thing is for sure, you are no good to me looking like that. You can’t go to any meetings for a while; not looking like that. You look like shit," Wanda laughed. "I’ll call Meka and reschedule our meeting."

"You sure?" I said like I was disappointed not being able to go to any boring-ass meetings for a while.

"I’m sure."

"If you think that’s best."

"There is something you can do."

"What’s that?"

"You could meet Jamaica in Nassau. He called me again yesterday and said you’ve been putting him off about him expanding there."

"I told him to talk it over with Nick, and if he thinks it’s a good idea, then go for it."

"He said he talked to Nick and he said to talk to you, and if
you
think it’s a good idea . . . you see where this is going?"

"I get the point."

"You said you were thinking about buying some property in Nassau, anyway. Well, here’s your chance. Go down there, spend a few days, let your wounds heal, get Jamaica off my back. Then you come back, rested and refreshed, ready to do business."

"Okay, Wanda, if you think that’s best."

"Don’t patronize me. I hate it when you do that."

"Sorry. Call Jay, and tell him to meet me there day after tomorrow."

"I’ll have my assistant make the arrangements; you going alone?"

"Make arrangements for three."

"Other than you, who are the other two?"

"Kevon; and I’ll let you know who the third is as soon as I know." I stood up. "Right now, I’m goin’ back to bed."

Later that afternoon, I was awakened by the sound of my phone ringing. Since very few people had that number, I knew it was important.

It was Martin Marshall on the line. He was a state senator that I had done business with a few times years before. But he was such a greedy fuck that I had to cut him loose. Martin had recently won his election as congressman for his district. Since then, we’ve proven to be very valuable assets to one another.

"I know I didn’t wake you up, Black." Martin said.

"Well you did, Martin. What you need?"

"What makes you so sure I want something?"

"’Cause the only time you call me is when you want something, so what is it?"

"Meet me at the usual spot, and we’ll talk about it."

"What time?"

"How soon can you get there?"

"Give me hour."

"See you then," Martin said and hung up.

A little more than an hour later, me and Kevon stood waiting for Martin on the corner of Thirty-fourth Street and Seventh Avenue. When Martin got there we blended into the crowd and talked. Martin’s right-hand man Scotty and Kevon, followed behind us.

"I’m not even going to ask what happened to your face," Martin said as we walked.

"Good."

Martin laughed a little, and then got down to the business at hand. "I’m thinking about making a little investment and I need a partner."

"I’m listening."

"How much do you know about sugar-based ethanol?"

"Not much."

"I’m thinking about making an investment in Cuba."

"Isn’t that illegal? Like treason-type of illegal?"

"That’s why I need partners. You being one, and some Chinese business men," Martin announced.

"That supposed to make me feel better about it?"

"With its huge potential for producing clean, renewable sugar-based ethanol, Cuba represents a significant source of energy that will remain unavailable to American consumers, unless we undo the embargo. Agricultural experts have estimated that Cuba could eventually provide more than three billion gallons of fuel annually, perhaps even more with new technologies for extracting energy from sugar cane waste comes online. That would make the island third in the world in ethanol production, behind the US and Brazil. Given the relatively small demand for auto fuel in Cuba, nearly all of that ethanol would be available for export to its nearest neighbor."

"You telling me that you’re in a position to make that happen?"

"Not yet. But sooner or later it will happen. The fact is, Fidel feels that using cane for fuel instead of food is a capitalist crime against the poor. Having ceded power to his brother Raúl, he no longer controls economic policy. Raúl is widely viewed as the more flexible and pragmatic Castro. A revitalized ethanol industry in Cuba would have an enormous and ready market only ninety miles away. If the embargo is lifted, I want to be in before some of my greedy colleagues go running in."

"I see your point. What’s the next step?"

"I’m going to arrange a meeting with my Chinese friend and some enterprising members of the Cuban government."

"When?" I asked, but hating the idea of going to another meeting.

"I’ll call you in a couple of days, and I’ll let you know where and when."

"I’m going to the Bahamas day after tomorrow."

"Bahamas, huh? Business or pleasure?" Martin asked.

"Little of both."

"How long are you planning on being gone?"

"Couple of days; I’ll keep in touch."

"Do that," Martin said and the two separated.
　

One advantage to meeting Martin on Thirty-fourth Street was that it served a dual purpose. It was far from Martin’s congressional district in the Bronx, and it was close to a high-end boutique called The In-Town Experience, on Thirty-fifth Street and Eighth Avenue. The boutique was owned and operated by CeCe. Her real name was Cameisha Collins. She used to be with a baller who called himself Cash Money. He was murdered and since then, she made herself very useful to me. Anything he’d tell her to do got done.