Urban Renewal (19 page)

“Used to be—what?—five thousand Vice Lords? All under one command.”

“True,” Ace said. “But you coming up way short on the number. Could have been twice that, back in the day.”

“And the Stones? They kept changing their name, but …”

“Not their game,” Ace finished the line. “And most folks don’t know that the Latin gangs ain’t no new thing. Go far back as you want, they was organized. Zoot suits, pachucos, all self-defense. Between the cops—they had that Red Squad deal in the sixties—and the black gangs, they wasn’t lying about this town, either.”

“Red Squad?” Rhino squeaked.

“Sure. The Panthers and the FALN—”

“The—”

“Puerto Rican
independistas
,” Cross told the giant. “They didn’t get the press the Panthers did, but they were a whole lot more serious. Bombing was their specialty.”

“And they didn’t need to take no Spanish course when they got to Cuba,” Ace added.

“Okay. But here’s how it is
now
: instead of fighting over control of the South Side, or even just Englewood, now it’s micro-gangs, fighting over blocks. No central leadership, no ‘Main Twenty-One,’ no leadership charts.

“In L.A., they break down into what they call ‘sets,’ but there’s still some kind of broad allegiance: Crips and Bloods, La Eme and La Familia, like that. Not in this town. Nobody’s taxing these little groups, and they’re not paying the cops, either.

“Let me talk to Mike Mac. If I can reach him, I’ll be back soon.”

“
WHAT?
”
A blunt question from a man who questioned everything. His face was a map of Ireland and told of a life spent in fight rings.

“I just want to check some things.”

“Why?”

“Come on, Mac.”

“I’ll listen.”

Cross briefly summarized what he’d told Ace and Rhino. Then said, “That about right?”

“Yeah. That’s why the murder rate is so high now. One punk knows where he can get some coke—even
that’s
easier now, with no one crew in charge of supply. You hear about
that
, too?”

“No,” Cross said, flat-faced, ignoring that the cop had just told him he knew who was responsible for the disappearance of several local kingpins. And that those cases were never going to
be
cases as far as the police were concerned.

“Okay. It doesn’t take a degree in chemistry to brew up some rock. Another punk, he’s got some crappy TEC-9. Add three, four more, plus one car, and that’s a gang today.”

“Not looking to expand?”

“No. And that’s your answer to the next question, too—they’re too small-time to have anyone on their payroll. Even those killer-clowns know there’s no point taking territory you can’t hold. You’d lose more than the territory; you’d lose face.”

“Then they’re a lot smarter than—”

“Yeah. I know. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not right now.”

McNamara let out a laugh so short it could have passed for a snort through his broken-too-often-to-repair nose.

“What?” Cross said, knowing what was coming.

“Just over a year ago, a car got blown to bits out in the Badlands. Now we got another, almost the same place. Only difference was the size of the cars—and we could estimate that only because one was a stretch limo and the other was much smaller.”

“Huh!”

“You think—this is just your opinion I’m asking for—those two could have been connected in some way?”

“I couldn’t even guess.”

“Yeah? See, if those
were
connected, it might make a little more sense. We’d have to figure it for someone trying to send a message.”

“Beats a vat of acid.”

“Or a river dump. And ever since the supply line got cut, all those Central American guys disappearing, the Outfit
could
decide it was time to go back into business.”

“It’s something they’d do. Greed rules.”

“Uh-huh. I guess it’s a job for the OC Unit.”

“If the police figured that, I wouldn’t be arguing with them.”

“You’re not giving me much.”

“I didn’t ask for much.”

“You never do, Cross. But, somehow, every time I talk to you, I feel like a guy who got shorted on the split.”

“I wouldn’t do that. We’re not on opposite sides of the table. Anyone asked, I’d say we were friends. You?”

“Depends on who was asking,” the cop said. He turned smoothly and was back inside his unmarked car while his last words were still hanging in the air.

“
DIDN
’
T TAKE
long,” Ace said.

“Wasn’t a lot to say,” Cross told the two men who had been awaiting his return. Then he quickly summarized what he’d been told.

“You think Buddha and Tracker can sniff that out?”

“If Mac said that was the scene, that’s good enough for me.”

Ace nodded. He didn’t know how Cross and the cop they called Mike Mac had reached their détente many years back, but that glue had held for so long he’d taken it for granted that their leader could get the kind of information they needed—confirming that cops were on the take in a certain area wouldn’t have violated McNamara’s personal code. So when he’d said they weren’t, it was taken for gospel.

“Can I ask something?” the assassin said.

Cross and Rhino reacted as one man: Why would Ace say anything like that? Ask a question? After all they’d been through. Been through
together
. What the hell was
that
about?

Ace looked from Rhino to Cross, then back again. Greeted with noncommittal silence, the man who had practiced his trade for decades, despite the short life span of others who had chosen the same path, took a breath. Then:

“I want to get Sharyn and the kids out of where they are,” he said.

“Why?” Cross asked, genuinely puzzled. Sure, Ace’s family lived in one of the few remaining projects in Chicago, but their safety was not at risk—nobody takes a long drink from a bottle with a skull-and-crossbones on its label. And the interior of the four-bedroom, top-floor apartment was beautifully decorated, from the plush carpeting to the soundproofed walls. Even the inside-facing bulletproof door was a single slab of fine teak, and the Lexan windows each had a set of Levolor blinds between two panes of tinted glass. None of the kids had ever learned to sleep in the bathtub—there had been no need to teach them that basic survival skill.

“You know one thing my kids never had? A yard. I mean, a yard that was
theirs
, where they could play without some dirtbag watching them from the sidewalk. Or some punks throwing lead with their eyes closed. And my Sharyn, she’s a country girl. Always growing things inside the place. But she never had what she really wants.

“She never said a word to me, but she don’t have to—I know she wants a garden. Not for flowers, for food. Wants to grow her own corn, or potatoes or … hell, I don’t know. And it don’t matter. That woman deserves more than I ever gave her. She don’t want diamonds and furs, you feel me? She wants some ground. That’s what she always calls it, ‘ground.’ Wants some ground that’s
hers
. Her people were
sharecroppers, before I got her old man to take some cash and buy himself out.

“Now, her father, he was a
proud
man. Wouldn’t touch charity, not from nothing or nobody. I had to tell him it would be a tax dodge for me, and it would belong to Sharyn when him and his woman left. All he wanted to know he already knew—I never made no baby-mama out of his daughter; I wasn’t the kind of slimy punk who buys Pampers every so often and acts like it’s
not
the Welfare who’s feeding his own children.”

Ace took a breath—for him, this was a very lengthy speech. “I want one of the houses. One of those five, I’m saying. I want Sharyn to have her garden. I want my kids to have a place to play where she don’t need a damn telescope just to watch them from the windows. I don’t care about no schools; Sharyn wouldn’t let me send the kids to
any
public school in this town. I got the coin stashed. Maybe not the price So Long wants them to go for, but I damn sure got the price she
paid
.”

“That won’t work. Asking So Long for a discount would be like asking a whore for a free ride. Besides, it’s too much information for her to have.”

“I know,” said the man whose business card was the ace of spades. His only jewelry was the 12-gauge sawed-off he always wore on a rawhide string necklace.

“How much can you put your hands on? Without going into your case money.”

“Somewhere around one and a half. Damn, you know I
make
money, bro. But with all those kids … And if I check out before Buddha does, no way that evil little—”

“I can put my hands on two full,” Cross interrupted.

“I can do better than that,” Rhino squeaked. “And you only need around five.”

Ace went very still. Then he held out his right hand, balled into a fist. Cross put his own fist on top. And Rhino’s hand opened like a giant umbrella over both, repeating a blood oath they’d taken when they were all prisoners.

“Do you hate them?” Cross asked.

Rhino nodded.

“Do you hate them ALL?”

“Yes,” Rhino said, so softly his squeak was barely audible.

“Then you’re my brother,” all three men said, together.

CROSS WAS
on the middle drag of his third cigarette when Princess walked in, holding Tiger’s hand.

“She won’t wear what I picked out,” the huge child complained.

“Princess,” the deadly Amazon said, soothingly, “that’s a Las Vegas getup. For a chorus girl, not a stripper.”

“But it’s so pretty!”

Cross shot Tiger a look.

“I am
not
going on any stage in a peacock-feather headdress!”

“Not tonight, you mean, right? Someday …”

Catching on immediately, Tiger turned to Princess. “It’s a lovely outfit, baby. But it’s the wrong crowd for it. Tonight, I’m saying. But for a special occasion …”

“All right!”

“A
special
occasion,” she warned.

Princess grinned happily. “What are you guys doing?”

“Just paperwork,” Rhino told him. “Ace is buying a house.”

“Oh boy! It’ll have a backyard and everything?”

Ace gave Rhino a look that would turn most men into jelly. “Yeah,” he told Princess. “A backyard.”

“Then I can bring my dog over to play with your kids! That’ll be great!”

“You think I’m letting my children within a hundred yards of that—?”

“Oh, don’t be such a fussbudget,” Tiger said. “Sweetie wouldn’t hurt a child. Would you, honey?”

For the first time, all three seated men noticed the black-headed Akita. He was in a sitting position between Tiger and Princess, as if he’d been valedictorian of his obedience-school class.

“He’s pinning us,” Cross said.

“Well, he doesn’t
know
you, does he?” Tiger said. “Go introduce them, Princess.”

The once-caged beast stepped over to the table. “This is Cross,” he said, beckoning to the dog as he emphasized the gang leader’s name.

When the dog approached, Princess said, “He’s my
friend
. Like Tiger. And this is Ace.”