On Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, it was hot, the tar bubbling. At Belmont Cleaners Albert was minding the counter and the boss was organizing clothes to be picked up. In the back, where it was even hotter, Carlos pressed pants and cursed the heat.
Albert was a good Catholic Lebanese boy, about eighteen, just out of high school. He was a good-looking boy with dark curly hair and an honest face, just a good kid, not big, not small, nothing special.
Red came in to pick up some pants and couple of shirts.
“Hey, Albert, hot one eh?”
“No kidding, Red. What are you up to?”
“Not much. Going to Tom’s, play some chess.”
“Good job if you can get it, Red. Actually, I have never seen you do a day’s work.”
Red ambled off up the street to the TV shop where Tom, the priest of TV’s, had a ramshackle business, a dusty storefront window that had never been cleaned and counters with assorted TVs in various stages of neglect.
Albert turned to Mr. Ahmed, the boss.
“He is livin the life of Riley. Makes me wonder about a lot of things.”
“Take it easy, Albert. Red did a couple of tours in Vietnam so I heard; was a sniper supposedly.”
“Well, I guess he earned some time off. Still, here we are sweatin and he is cruisin along like a king.”
“Nothing wrong with honest work, Albert. You gotta know that.”
“Ok, Mr. Ahmed.”
But Albert kept thinking about Red and the other loafers who seemed not to have a care in the world and plenty of money. After work he went home to his mother and sister, picking up some spices from Sahadi’s store on the way. Sahadi was the center of “Little Lebanon” as it was known.
Their little apartment was cozy. There was a wedding picture of Albert’s mother, Faraz, and his father in front of a famous Maronite Catholic Church in Beirut. His father had gone back to the old country several years before and had not been heard from again. After a meal of cous cous spiced with cumin and garlic the phone rang.
“What’s up, Joey? Haven’t heard from you in quite some time. Where have you been?”
“I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s take a walk. Want to show you something.”
“Cool. Meet you downstairs.”
Albert hardly recognized Joey who was two years older and had been a clean-cut high school athlete the last time he saw him. Now he had hair down to his shoulders and a goatee. He was handsome and cool by the standards of the day.
“Wow, Joey, I wouldn’t have known you except for the smile. What a difference. Guess you’re some kind of hippie now, right?”
“Maybe, I don’t like labels. But I don’t like war either and the hippie crowd is also against killing Vietnamese for no reason they can understand. So, we have that in common. I managed to dodge the draft. Been out to Hawaii for the last two years living in a commune of tree houses called Taylor Camp. Amazing place. Free love, run around naked, get high.”
“Wow. Joey. Did I say that before? Double wow! I wonder what your parents think about that. Isn’t your father a cop?”
“Yeah he is very disappointed in me and calls me a Communist.”
“Anyway, let’s talk about something else. How about you, Albert? Still the good Catholic boy?”
“What’s wrong with that, Joey. Somebody’s got to hold the line while you guys play around fucking up your lives. At least that is what Mr. Ahmed says.”
“That poor bastard Mr. Ahmed is a donkey tied to a well wheel back in the old country; round and round he goes going nowhere.”
“Yeah, that is one way to look at it I guess.”
“How about you and the draft, Albert?”
“So far they haven’t bothered me. I just turned eighteen. Anyway, since I am the only man in the family I think I can get an exemption.”
“I hope so for your sake, Albert. There were some vets at the commune, and they were all messed up one way or another. A lot of devilish things happened over there.
“You remember, Red, Joey? He got back recently, was a sniper supposedly. They say he liked it, liked hunting people.
“That’s not for me, Albert.”
“Me neither, Joey. Not sure how you live with yourself after killing somebody.”
The evening was nice, a cool breeze blowing off the harbor. They walked down the hill on Atlantic and over to Montague Street. From the boardwalk at Montague Street you can look across the harbor, see the Statue of liberty and all the lights of lower Manhattan blazing and reflecting off the water in a million colors. They found a bench and Joey took out a joint and lit it.
“Where did you get that, Joey?” Albert asked.
“Got it from Tom who got it from Moses. Don’t you know anything? We got the best weed in the world right here comin in on the boats from Columbia. It’s called Columbia Gold. That’s why you see those suburban rich kids down at the park at night. One guy I know took a hundred bucks off one of them and disappeared into a building and out the back door. Tough luck.”
“I don’t fool with that shit and you know it. I don’t even smoke.”
“Well, it is about time you did, numb nuts. It will help your life. Look at you, a fuckin mama’s boy who never got high, never got laid. Your life is slipping away bro.”
“So now you are cool and hip, smart ass?”
“Got to grow up sometime, Albert. I have been hanging around with Tom and the boys at the TV shop. They taught me chess and other things. I like them.”
“Be careful, Joey. I don’t want to see you get into trouble. I am going home now.”
In the morning he walked Gloria to school as usual.
“Ma says you are the son all mothers want,” she said as they walked along.
“I don’t know about that,” Albert said. “My life is not very interesting, Gloria. Same old thing every day. But I guess Ma means I don’t get into trouble and hold down a job. Mothers like that. They don’t want to worry.”
“You are better than that and handsome too,” Gloria said, smiling.
“You are a sweet kid, Sis. Let me know if anyone bothers you so I can beat them up,” Albert said, laughing.
Next day Albert was back in the shop taking in clothes and writing receipts. Tom stopped by with a couple of things to be cleaned. Tom was half Italian and half Lebanese and older than the rest of the gang. He was handsome, about thirty years old and very strong. He could carry monster-big TVs up six flights of stairs all day long. And that is what he did when he felt like it. But he was tiny, almost like a dwarf. When he was talking to Red or any other six-footer, it looked like his eyes were level with the other guy’s belly button. On top of that, Tom had a piercing, high voice that would have belonged better on a woman. When he laughed it was disturbing. He was very smart, had studied at the RCA TV school after he got back from Korea. He could fix any TV when he felt like it, which was less and less frequently.
To take up the slack, he had a guy from India, an illegal immigrant named Santosh did most of the work while Tom played chess and smoked Colombian Gold.
Tom dropped some pants and a couple of shirts on the counter.
“Hey, Albert, how’s it goin?”
“Same old, Tom. How about you?”
“Chess is the big deal now. We are all playing at the shop. Bobby Fischer, a Brooklyn boy, is going to be the world champion. At least we hope so. He is a phenomenon, unbelievable skill. Somebody asked him why he likes the game so much and he said, “I like to crush my opponents’ egos!” That’s Brooklyn all the way. We love it. Come by sometime and we’ll show you how to play.”
“Thanks, Tom, I’ll think about it.”
As the man of the family, Albert had responsibilities like walking Gloria to school in the morning and helping around the house. Meanwhile, he was working on an associate degree in accounting at Brooklyn Community College, taking classes evenings and weekends.
During the week Albert held down the fort with Mr. Ahmed and Carlos, doing a day’s work. But he was curious about Tom and Joey’s talk about chess, and so, on his lunch break, he walked up the hill a block and went into the TV shop. Santosh was there doing all the TV work as usual since Tom was either out delivering TVs or in the back playing chess. Santosh lived in the Bronx with his wife and young son.
“Hi, Santosh, how’s it goin?”
“Yesterday my boy was home and someone was trying to break in. He called me and there was nothing I could do. I just told him to call the police. I have about ten locks on the door. What a place.”
“Sorry to hear that, Santosh. Hopefully, you can move out of that neighborhood eventually.”
“Thanks, Albert, but we barely have enough money to get by as it is.”
“Tom around?”
“In the back as usual. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
In the back, one of the tables had been cleared off for a few chess boards and most of the time there was at least one game going on. Today Tom and Jimmy Kirshi were just finishing a game, Jimmy throwing up his hands in disgust. Tom looked at Albert.
“I just finished crushing his ego, Albert, ha ha. That’s chess, just like Bobby Fischer, ha ha.”
“What can I do for you, Albert?”
“Joey told me about the chess scene and Bobby Fischer and you guys playing here and I thought it sounded interesting.”
“Come on, Albert, I will show you the moves. Maybe you will be another Fischer!”
Albert got hooked on it fast once he knew the moves and he started beating a few of the neighborhood guys, Johnny the Rocker, and Aurelio the White Knight. He played more and more at lunchtime, on the weekends, and even after work when he was supposed to go home.
One Saturday, about six guys including Tom and Albert were deep into their games at the back of the TV shop. A big guy with wild hair and wearing a sport jacket came barging in smiling and giggling hysterically. Before you knew it, he had broken open some little tubes he was carrying and tossed them on the chess boards. He kept one and he put it under Albert’s nose.
“Smell that kid!” he said.
All of a sudden Albert was on cloud nine, giggling and smiling, laughing hysterically. They all were crazy high. They couldn’t talk for a minute or two, just out in space somewhere.
“You are a crazy fucker, Moses,” Tom said.
But he was smiling. Everybody appreciated being transported to a different reality for a couple of minutes. That’s amyl nitrite. Two minutes later it was back to the same old reality. Moses disappeared as fast as he had appeared.
Something changed for Albert, who had never gotten high, drunk, or anything like that. He was thinking to himself, “That was really something. They all like smoking that Columbia Gold, I wonder what that is like.”
“Who is that guy, Tom?” Albert asked.
“Moses is crazy but powerful in the drug trade. He supplies most of the Columbia Gold in the area but not directly. He has other people working for him. Stay away from him, Albert; he is dangerous. There are stories.”
Tom and Albert got closer. Tom was his chess mentor and since Albert was improving rapidly and totally addicted to the game, it made Tom feel proud. They went up to the Chess House up on 72nd street in Manhattan to watch the European pros play fast games on the clock, making the first ten moves in less than a minute. It was astounding to them, the skill these guys had.
Eventually Albert asked Tom about what smoking pot was all about.
“It’s great, Albert. Not dangerous, but it kind of kills your motivation. I am a good example. You don’t want to do some things you are supposed to do. It makes you think those things are not so important.”
“I already think a lot of things I am supposed to do in my life are not important. A lot of it seems like a waste of time, but not chess.”
“I have to agree with you, Albert. Come over to my apartment and we can play chess there and smoke a joint together.”
And that is what happened on Saturday. After he finished his morning shift at Belmont Cleaners, Albert walked up Atlantic to Tom’s shop. Tom was loading a 24-inch RCA TV into the trunk of his Pontiac Grand Prix, a hot car in its day but now mostly beat up with a lot of dents from traffic squabbles.
“Help me make on delivery, Albert, and then we will play.”
“Ok.”
Tom drove that old wreck like a race car. They were both giggling and laughing as he tailgated cars on Brooklyn/Queens expressway and roared past them at the slightest opportunity. It wasn’t long before they were in front of an apartment building in a neighborhood Albert had never seen before, no man’s land.
Tom dug the tv out of the trunk and Albert helped opening and closing doors while Tom balanced the monster RCA on his shoulder. Through the lobby, into the elevator and up to the 10th floor they went. Albert knocked on 10B and they could hear yelling inside. The door opened.
“Thank God,” a haggled woman in a night shirt exclaimed. “It’s Tom, Salvatore, the priest of TVs!”
“God bless you, Tommy. The Yankee game has already started and we’re behind.”
In no time the TV was hooked up and Joe Pepitone was up at bat.
“Come on Joe,” Salvatore said, “Hail Mary full of Grace.”
Unfortunately, Joe flied out.
“How much do I owe you, Tommy?”
“Next time, Sal. Enjoy the game.”
“Bless you, Tommy.”
“Let’s go, Albert.”
“What’s up with that Tom?” Albert asked. “Aren’t you supposed to get paid for your work?”
“Fuck it, Albert. They don’t have any money, barely a pot to piss in. I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
They didn’t say much for a while. They drove back and Tom parked the car on Atlantic and they walked around the corner to the big apartment building where Tom lived with about one thousand other people. It was an old brownstone building with a lobby full of bronze mailboxes and buzzers. Once you got in, it was dark, creepy actually, and quiet. Despite so many people living in the building none of them was ever in sight.
Tom lived on the first floor so they walked down the corridor, around a corner and stopped in front of his door. Tom unlocked it and they were in. It smelled of incense and something else. It was also quite dark. The living room was unused but with some decent furniture all covered in plastic. There was a bathroom and a small kitchen, also unused and the bedroom where the chess set was on a table with two chairs. The TV was on, but low volume, the black and white picture flickering. It was a rerun of the Amos ‘n’ Andy Show.
“Did you forget to turn it off?” asked Albert.
“Most of the time I leave it on. It’s less lonely that way.”
“Well, I guess you really are a TV man.”
Tom sat down across from the chess board and took a joint of Columbia Gold out of a small wooden box he had on a side table.
“Sit down, Albert. Let’s smoke a joint. Hold it down in your lungs as long as you can without choking.”
It wasn’t long before Albert was feeling the full effects of the weed and enjoying it. Everything was different and he almost felt out of his body. He noticed details in the apartment and laughed at Amos and Andy carrying on even without the sound. Tom made an opening move on the chessboard and for a minute Albert didn’t understand at all that it was chess, a game, and he was supposed to move. But he did move and started to come back into himself.
“Wow, Tom, this is crazy.”
“Cool eh, Albert?”
“Definitely.”
From that point on Albert got high and played chess with Tom whenever the opportunity arose, which was at least a couple of times a week. Marijuana costs money, money Albert did not have. Without Tom’s generosity, which was connected to playing chess, Albert was out of luck.
Word had it that Tom got it from Moses but he didn’t sell it despite needing money like everyone else. Tom was too smart for that. Some of Tom’s friends and TV customers were cops. What he did for Moses was not clear, maybe a number of things. Moses had an interest in some bars and candy stores supposedly and Tom could fix a lot of things, not just TV’s.
There were a lot of things about Tom that were not clear. Supposedly, he had a wife and child somewhere but nobody ever saw them or knew what the story was. That seemed strange if it was true. He did have a girlfriend, Susie, who lived in the building, a divorced mother with a young son. When the kid fell asleep she snuck out and down to Tom’s for servicing. She was nice and they got along but there was nothing much to it. She liked to watch TV while he was humping her from behind. “It relaxes her,” Tom said. “Better than jerking off into a handkerchief.”
Like a lot of Brooklyn boys, he had a tough side. One afternoon when they were smoking and playing chess Albert asked him about Korea.
“I was caught with three other guys behind the lines. The Chinese were pouring in and we couldn’t get back. Some guys in two jeeps came by heading back to our side as fast as they could. We tried to flag them down but they wouldn’t stop, just ignored us. I got in front of the second jeep before he could escape and shot my rifle in the air. “You’re taking us back or I am going to kill you right now.” The other two guys were ready to back me up. What do you think they did, Albert? Right, they gave us a ride, ha ha.”
Albert couldn’t move. He was frozen in fear as the Colombian Gold planted a clear picture of it all in his brain, like he was watching a movie but it was real. Tom would have killed the guys in the Jeep if they hadn’t stopped. He was absolutely sure of that.
“Jesus, Tom, I had no idea.”
“War is not what you think, Albert. Just survival. That’s all.”
Time passed. The nights got cooler in August, the wind off the harbor had a bite to it. Albert still took care of things at home and continued studying accounting but was very bored. One Saturday morning, Moses came into the cleaners with some shirts to be pressed. Albert was at the counter as always.
“Hey, kid, remember me?” said Moses.
“Who could forget, Mr. Moses. You put us all on cloud nine for a few minutes.”
“Yeah, Albert, those poppers are fun but not often. You could pop a blood vessel if you are unlucky. The weed won’t hurt you. Tom told me you are liking that.”
“I do. Tom and I smoke when we play chess, not often.”
“I’ve got a business proposition for you, Albert. I know you are a reliable boy. Everyone likes you. That is the type of guy I need.”
“What have you got in mind, Mr. Moses?”
“I have to go up to the East Bronx this evening for some business. Take a ride with me. You will find it interesting; I guarantee. Meet me on the corner of Clinton and Atlantic at about seven. You can hang out at Jimmy’s candy store if I am a few minutes late.”
“Ok, sounds like an adventure. Don’t have many of those, that’s for sure.”
“See you then, Kid. And just call me Moses. Take it easy.”
Albert was not too sure this was a good idea. He had heard about Moses and it was all bad but he was a powerful guy, had money, girls, and a lot of other things most people want. Taking a ride and getting to know him a little seemed like an opportunity of some kind.
Albert had put on a clean shirt, combed his curly hair, and was wearing a decent pair of pressed pants when Moses rolled up in an old Cadillac, a classic actually. Really cool.
“Hop in, Kid,” said Moses.
They crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge and headed north on the FDR up to the Willis Avenue Bridge over to the South Bronx. From there they kept going north and joined the Bruckner Expressway, the main thoroughfare running north/south in the Bronx.
“That’s where Carmen works,” said Moses pointing to a big building that said, “Sax Furniture” on it, and over here on this side is Hunts Point Market where the restaurants and groceries get a lot of their food.”
“I have heard them talk about it at Sahadi’s,” Albert said, “but I have never been up here before.”
They took a ramp off Bruckner onto 135th street and made a couple of turns onto Cypress Avenue. Moses parked the car in front of a five-story apartment building with no outstanding features, just a building. The whole area was nondescript and there were no trees, no parks, nothing to distinguish it, just a concrete world. They got out and Moses locked the car carefully and set some kind of alarm.
“Got to be careful here, Albert,” he said. “If I left this car overnight it would either not be here in the morning or totally gutted for parts, just the frame left.”
They got into the small lobby and rang one of the buzzers.
“Quien es?” a woman’s voice asked.
“It’s me, Moses.”
The buzzer buzzed and they opened the door. The hallway was dark; maybe the building management was behind on the electric bill. They walked down the hall. It was quiet, like nobody lived in the building. At apartment 1F they stopped and Moses knocked. An old lady answered the door.
“Hola, Moses, entra.”
They entered the living room. It was dark too, just lit by a couple of lava lamps, colorful, the kind of illumination for relaxation of any kind. Two Latin ladies were sitting there on a couch with a flower pattern protected by plastic. There was a coffee table and two comfortable chairs. Smooth jazz was playing in one of the bedrooms off the living room. Albert was nervous. This was not a situation he knew about. He wondered what his mother would say if she could see him now. The larger of the two women got up smiling.
“Hey, Moses. Que Tal? Who is your good-looking young friend?”
“That’s Albert from the neighborhood, Carmen. He is going to be my future business partner.”
“Oh, I see,” said Carmen. “This is Julia, a friend of mine, a very nice person. Sit down. Relax. Nice to meet you, Albert. Moses is a good guy to know. You will make money with him. Did you bring the product, Moses?”
“Of course.”
He unslung his carrying bag from across his chest and opened it. He took out a brick-shaped item, shrink wrapped, a compressed pound of Colombian Gold and put it on the coffee table.
“That shit is the best,” said Carmen. “I am the most popular person in this part of the Bronx, ha ha. They never stop chasing me for it. Let’s roll up a couple of joints and get high.”
“Ok by me,” said Moses.
He sat down, took out a pack of Bamboo papers, opened the shrink wrap with a knife, and started rolling some joints. Albert sat back in the other chair wondering what he had gotten himself into, what was going to happen next. These women were not like the Catholic girls he knew from church.
It wasn’t long before the effects of the Colombian were in high style. The four of them were smiling, giggling a little as the sensations of the weed as their brains played all sorts of games.
Julia got up, went into the bedroom, and turned up the music. She came out smiling.
“Come on handsome, let’s dance?”
“Me?” Albert said, pointing to himself.
“Not my grandmother, honey. Don’t be nervous. I won’t hurt you.”
“Ok, I’ll try,” said Albert acting brave.
They took up the dance position everyone knows and she pushed him gently this way and that. After a few minutes she got closer to him, not exactly a clinch but something like that. He could feel her hips moving and she rubbed against his leg. The Kid started to get excited, his cock starting to move around and puff up some. Julia felt it and reached her hand into his pocket and touched it. Albert was nervous but enjoying it.
“I don’t know if I should be doing this,” he said to Julia.
“It is ok Albert. Relax. It is the most natural thing in the world. Come on, let’s go be by ourselves.”
She took him by the hand into the bedroom. There was soft jazz playing and the low light from the lava lamps reflected colors off the ceiling. She sat him down on the bed and kissed him, opening his shirt.
“You are handsome, Albert. I like you.”
He kissed her.
“Is this your first time Albert?”
“Yes.”
“Take your time. Explore.”
There is a first time for everything and as first times go, this one was just fine.
“Come on, Romeo,” Moses called from the living room. You had your fun. Gracias, Julia. You are an angel.”
“What are friends for.” said Julia.
Albert hugged her and also Carmen on the way out.
“Nice to meet you, Carmen,” he said.
“See you, cutie,” said Carmen.
Out on the street it was dark and quiet but with the normal sounds of some traffic not far away on the Bruckner Expressway and the everlasting sounds of sirens in the distance, the New York soundscape. They climbed into Moses old caddie and slowly moved back toward Brooklyn. The effects of the Colombian Gold were wearing off leaving them hungry and tired.
“Let’s get something to eat,” said Moses. “I’ll take you down to one of my favorite places in Chinatown for some good Wonton Soup.”
They retraced their steps, but this time not taking the bridge back to Brooklyn but kept going into Chinatown, in the shadow of the bridge. Moses parked in a lot, and they walked down East Broadway to an ally. A small street sign said, “Opium Street.” It was a short curving street leading back to East Broadway and at the curve there was a sign saying No. 11 and stairs going down to a basement restaurant full of Chinese people. In the middle of the room stood a big round, wooden table and a lot of pork meat and stacks of dough in squares. The people around the table, all men, were making won tons, grabbing the meat, and rolling it into the dough squares. They found a table and a Chinese man came over.
“Two soups,” said Moses, “and some tea.”
Almost immediately he was back with two big bowls of wonton soup and a pot of tea and two cups.
“This is really delicious,” Albert said.
“One of my favorite places, Albert, and open all night. These chinks never stop. Work work work.”
“Listen kid, you saw something of my business tonight. Carmen supplies her area with weed she gets from us that we get from connections in Columbia. That is no secret. It is good for her and good for me. We both make money. I want you to help me the same way. Very little risk as nobody cares much about reefer in our part of the world. You know Ryan the cop. He and his crew are busy chasing niggers, trying to lock up murderers and rapists, people like that. They ain’t got time to worry about who is smoking a joint.”
“I don’t know, Moses,” Albert replied. I got to think about my mother and sister, what would happen if I got in trouble. I am the man of the family.”
“You can do a lot more for them working for me Albert, than you will ever be able to do for them working at the cleaners. There are a lot of things you can do with the money if you got your head on your shoulders. I understand you study accounting. Put it to work!”
“Thanks for what you did for me tonight, Moses. I won’t forget it. How could I? About business, let me think about it. We can talk some more later after I calm down.”
“Good thinking, Kid. That’s why I want to work with you.”
Albert did think about it and remembered Julia, and getting high with her and Carmen, having sex, feeling strong. Life at the cleaners and at home and school were just plain boring and becoming unbearable. He needed more money to get girls, Columbia Gold, and the life that went with it which seemed exciting. It wasn’t long before Moses came by the cleaners with some shirts.
“What’s up, Kid? How are you feeling?”
“Hey, Moses. Ok. I have been thinking about what you suggested. Let’s talk sometime.”
“Cool. I’ll stop by after work and we can get some shish kebab and baba ghanoush at Grandpa’s Restaurant up the street. Know where it is Kid? Meet you there. Better nobody sees us hanging out together.”
“Ok.”
The day went very slowly for Albert, watching the clock, nervous about what he was getting into, excited, scared. He called his mother to tell her he wasn’t coming home for supper.
“I’m having dinner with some of the chess players,” he said.
“That chess is taking up too much of your time,” Feraz said.
“It’s ok Ma. I am on top of my schoolwork.”
“Don’t be too late.”
He walked up the hill on Atlantic and a couple of blocks past Clinton crossed over to the Cobble Hill side of the street where an old Lebanese man had a traditional restaurant with just simple wooden tables and chairs, mid-east decorations, including both Christian and Muslim symbols and artifacts. It was dingy, low light, but clean. There were only a few other customers.
They found a table and “Grandpa,” came over with some hot mint tea in glasses and waited for the order.
“Let’s have some baba ghanoush and some nice lamb shish kebab, Pop,” Moses said.
“Ok,” Pop said, and turned and went into the kitchen. It wasn’t long before out came the baba ghanoush with Syrian flat bread and they got busy spreading the spicy eggplant concoction on the bread and eating happily while they waited for the shish kebab to get done.
“Here is the deal, Albert. I want to rent a small apartment for you in Tom’s building. It will be in somebody else’s name. Nobody will know. I’ll give you a certain amount of product for a certain price on loan. If it cost me $100 it should sell for $500. That’s $400 over the cost. I want $300 of that and you get $100 to start. It should be very easy money as there is a huge demand. The gang from the park down by the bridge will send somebody so you only deal with him. And someone from the bars between Henry and Hicks will buy from you. Don’t deal with the guys around here unless you really know them and can trust them. That’s a judgement call. I will get the apartment and loan you $200 so you can buy a few things for the apartment. Once you are set up I will start you with a pound of Columbia Red. You are a junior accountant. There are sixteen ounces to the pound. Figure it out. Let’s see how much profit you can squeeze out of that much. Estimate the cost of the product for me at $100 just to make things easy. You are in business!”
So that’s how it started, a sweet deal by any standard as long as the risk was low. Ryan, the cop, was around and couldn’t care less as mentioned before. Everybody knew him. Sometimes when Albert would go to Tom’s apartment to play chess, Ryan would be there instead of Tom.
“Tom’s not here Albert,” Ryan would say. And in the background Albert could see a Puerto Rican girl getting dressed. Like that. Cops.
Albert was no dummy. He knew he had to keep it all quiet. For one thing people were scared of Moses even if Albert didn’t know why. For another thing, his mother and her friends couldn’t suspect anything. Feraz would be hysterical if she thought Albert had anything to do with drugs. His sister was taking classes for her first communion, for God’s sake. The risks of that were worse than the risks from the cops, or so he thought anyway.
Moses was good as his word. A week later he dropped by the cleaners with some more clothes, a good way to communicate without drawing attention.
“Here is the key, Albert, 2F, F for fuck pad. You should be able to get some regular pussy now. Take it from me, ha ha. Get yourself a bed or at least a mattress and a couple of chairs. Here is the money I promised.”
It wasn’t long before the Kid was set up. Of course, there were a few people he trusted in the neighborhood, people like Tom or Red who were like family. They would never say “boo.” He wanted to show off his new status at least to them. Tom knew, of course, as it was in his building but Albert wanted to show Red because he respected him, from his war reputation and because Red was like the Sphinx, like the king of secrets. He never said anything much.
Red liked to hang around outside the TV shop. He and an old black guy named Kootaboo liked to sit together there. Red told Albert that the only items Kootaboo had in his little apartment were a record player and a few jazz albums, Miles Davis, and Eric Dolphy. All the rest he had sold or bartered for drugs. But he seemed happy enough with nothing. Red took out a joint and passed it to Koot whose face lit up in a grin like the sun.
“ Bless you brother. God is good. Miracles happen!” He pulled out a pack of matches, lit it up, and smoked about half, putting the other half in his pocket for later. His eyes began to take on that puffy drugged look and his smile got even wider.
“By God Red, I was so down this morning, lower than a snake’s belly. Then one ole joint sent me up to cloud nine. I believe I could kick a bear’s ass right now!”
“I’m happy for you,” said Red who never seemed to experience either highs or lows. Maybe when you are a sniper hunting other men in the jungle you can’t be anything much than focused, super focused. Red did smoke but not much and it was not clear that it did anything to him, like he was beyond it. When Ram Das was Richard Alpert, a messed-up college professor looking for answers in India, he gave the guy he called his guru a heavy load of LSD probably the strongest hallucinogen in the world. Nothing happened, nothing. Makes you wonder.
Albert passed by.
“Come on, Red,” said Albert, “I want to show you something.”
They walked around the corner to Tom’s building and Albert opened the front door, which was already a surprise, that he had keys to the building. They walked up one flight and to 2F and Albert opened the door. He had decorated it just like Carmen’s apartment up in the South Bronx. That experience with Julia was on his mind apparently. There were reflecting lights off the ceiling from the lava lamps and a Styrofoam bed with some big cushions and two chairs and a card table. That was it.
“What do you think, Red? Pretty cool right?”
“Right, Albert. I got the feeling you will be bringing girls here.”
“Hope so, Red. Can’t bring them home. That’s for sure.”
“Good luck. I hope it works out for you. Be careful.”
It was obvious to Red that there was more to it than just a fuck pad but he didn’t want to say anything. It is important to mind one’s own business.
A new stage of Albert’s young life was in full swing. And he kept his other life going at the same time, which was strategic as well as sensible. He didn’t want to worry his mother so he kept his job at Belmont Cleaners despite the fact that he was making more selling ganja almost immediately. And he kept taking his accounting classes, ironically more interested now that he was a “businessman.”
He had “office hours” at his apartment, nights after school when he told his mother he was taking extra classes or some other school-related excuse. She got used to his coming home late those nights and didn’t wait up. And he walked Gloria to school in the morning as usual, Feraz walking her home in the afternoon.
And the Belmont gig worked for Albert too. He did have local customers, people like Juanita, Krista, Bobby the baker, Louie the hat, Angel the White Knight. These friends could stop by and have a few words with Albert or drop off clothes and make appointments at “the pad” as it came to be known. The pussy angle worked too as Albert the businessman was more attractive than Albert the kid. He had money in his pocket and all the weed you could smoke. Some of the girls just came to get high and get laid, not hard to take at all. “Good job if you could get it,” as the guys joked.
Moses came by every couple of weeks to pick up his money and bring the next load of Columbia Gold. Everything was smooth. Unfortunately, smooth is not eternal except maybe in heaven. In this world it is more complicated. A successful enterprise like Albert had going was bound to attract attention. No doubt Moses was paying off Ryan and the cops and making sure the park kept producing and Albert’s local trade was solid.
But Brooklyn is dense and complicated. Across Atlantic was Cobble Hill, and farther south, Red Hook. Some of the black guys working day jobs in the neighborhood lived in Bedford Stuyvesant and other rough neighborhoods, places a white person avoided.
One guy, Henry, worked in a loft building near Tom’s store helping in a rag business there. Albert sold to him because Henry was a really good guy, a family man, just a solid citizen who liked to smoke some reefer to make the boring work of moving bales of rags all day a little less so. Who could blame him? So, Albert let him buy directly from “The Pad.”
But there were other black guys who were not nice. They tried to buy in the park and were chased out by the local crew there, Moses’s people. “Get the fuck out of here niggers,” was how they put it. One of them knew Henry from their neighborhood, knew his family, and knew Henry always had something to smoke.
“Where you getting it bro?”
“Sorry Mojo, it is a private thing, top secret.”
“Give it up sucker or we’ll take it out of your ass.”
Red lived upstairs in the loft above the rag business on the bottom floor. He came down one morning after his morning rituals which included meditation and cleaning his guns. No kidding. He and Henry were friends actually. Henry had also served in Nam. They liked and respected each other. Henry was just pushing a dolly with bales of rags out the door when Red came down the stairs and onto the street.
“Jesus, Henry. What the fuck happened to you? You look like you should be in the hospital.”
Henry had two black eyes and tape across his nose which had obviously been broken.
“They got me right before I got home, right on the steps. Took my money and then beat me almost to death.”
Red just shook head.
“You might want to carry a gun Henry. Sorry to say it.”
“I’m getting one. Nobody is getting near me again.”
But this was no random robbery but the way they found out about Albert and his “pad.”
A few weeks later Tom came by the cleaners looking upset.
“Tell Mr. Ahmed you need a few minutes off, Albert. Something happened to your apartment.”
“Sorry Mr. Ahmed,” Albert said, “I have an emergency errand I have to do for my mother.”
Tom and Albert almost ran up the street and around the corner to Tom’s building. They climbed the stairs and were in front of 2 F in a New York minute. They just stood there. The door was busted right down the middle like King Kong had walked through it. All the locks meant nothing as it was still a wooden door and somebody had taken an axe to it. Inside was a wreck as the thieves looked everywhere for the ganja and the money. Albert never thought this could happen. He was shocked but also had a problem, Moses.
“What the hell am I going to do?” he said to Tom.
“Take out anything in there that has your name on it and walk away, like you don’t know anything about it. The neighbors won’t say anything. They will be too scared. Get your stuff now and get out. I gotta go. Good luck.”
So that is what he did. Moses heard about it but nobody could trace the thieves back to Henry who kept his mouth shut.
“You are still wet behind the ears Kid,” said Moses. “There was a leak in your network. Also, you have to find a better way to hide your money and the product. I will get you another place a few blocks away farther up Atlantic. You owe me but you can make it back in time. I’ll give you two months and then you’re done if you want to be.”
Two months is not a long time, Albert was thinking. Moses was true to his word and got him set up in another small place above Grandpa’s Restaurant, just one room with a view of the street. This time Albert only dealt with close friends for the individual sales and concentrated on the wholesale buyers like Manny and his crew from the park and others he had developed in several neighborhoods all the way to Flatbush. Moses sent a few customers his way as well and things were going ok.
Albert kept the money for Moses at the bank at Atlantic and Clinton and only kept small money for individual trades. He sold everything at discount, basically turning over his share to Moses every week. And Moses collected every week, keeping a sharp eye on him. But he was still behind and there was slim chance he would be able to pay off his debt in two months.
Juanita was one of the neighborhood gang and very pretty, sexy. She was a weak character who liked to get high and would trade some sex for a nickel bag if she liked you and she liked Albert. She caught up with him on the street going to the bank one afternoon.
“What’s in the backpack handsome?” she said.
“Fuck you, Juanita. You know as well as I do, ha ha.”
“Everybody knows you got trouble with Moses, Albert. And I have the solution. Coke is the big thing now, not pot. That’s for grandma and grandpa, ha.”
“Don’t tell me you are into that, Juanita. That is serious.”
“Serious money, Kid, and that’s what you need if I am not wrong.”
Juanita persuaded Albert to sell to his big customers, the wholesale guys. They could buy coke when they bought the pot and spread it around their neighborhoods, create a demand. Everybody liked the blow and it didn’t seem dangerous except that you wanted to keep doing it. Nobody had withdrawal from it like the heroin addicts. It seemed ok and the money was great. Before long Albert was catching up fast to paying off his dept and had a smile on his face from getting a nose full of coke from time to time. It looked like he was going to come through with shining colors.
Unfortunately, the cops drew the line where coke was concerned. They didn’t care if it was in the black neighborhoods. “Let the niggers kill themselves. Who gives a fuck?” would be their thinking. But they would protect their own in the white neighborhoods.
It didn’t take long for them to know what was going on. Keeping a secret in a tight neighborhood is impossible. Ryan even gave Albert a heads up. He caught up with him at the cleaners.
“Word to the wise, Albert. Don’t have anything to do with coke. I am telling you.”
“Thanks, officer but don’t believe everything you hear. I wouldn’t touch that stuff.”
The cops started watching Albert’s apartment from across the street. They could see when the buyers showed up half a dozen times during the week at night and since the apartment had a window on the street they could see when people were there. Albert didn’t even bother getting a curtain.
One evening in September a few squad cars rolled up. Some of the cops charged up the stairs and the others watched outside. They knocked on the door and when nobody answered and they heard a lot of scrambling, they broke in. They arrested Albert and two other guys. Another was arrested climbing down the fire escape.
The cops didn’t get a big haul but enough to make a case. If they had found a big stash of money and drugs they might have just taken it and let Albert and the other guys go. Ironic that too little is more of a problem than a lot in some cases.
They brought in Albert and the other guys and they all spent the night in jail. The next day bail was set and the next day after that Albert was out. His mother was hysterical but someone had gone to her with the bail money and she brought it down to the station. Albert couldn’t face her.
“Oh God, Albert, what have you done? What has become of you? My son the drug seller, drug pusher. Think about your sister. Come on, you want her on drugs?”
He couldn’t answer and just buried his head and looked like he was going to cry.
You’d think that would be the end of it. But he still owed Moses, and even more now. He still had his apartment and he kept selling pot but not from the apartment and he stayed away from cocaine completely. He was very careful while he waited for his court case to come up, something that takes time in the overcrowded system of Brooklyn.
He ran into Juanita on the street. She was panicked but safe, not wanting anything more to do with cocaine.
“Hey, kid. Sorry about what happened. You ok?”
“Yeah, total shit. My poor mother is a wreck. I don’t know what to do. Feel like I burnt some bridges.”
“You won’t say anything about me, will you, Albert?”
“Of course not, Juanita. We are friends and I know I have to take my knocks. I won’t get anyone else involved no matter how they push me.
“I knew I could count on you, Albert. Let’s not see each other for a while. Lay low.”
“Right. What a mess.”
Nobody came by his apartment anymore. It was like Albert had a disease. So, he was surprised that one night someone knocked on the door. He didn’t open it but asked who it was.
“It’s me, Kid, Moses. Just want to see how you are getting on.”
He opened the door and Moses came in. He was smiling and full of manic craziness like always which made Albert feel like things were ok. They sat at the table and shot the breeze for a while about nothing particular.
And then Moses said, “Some people are nervous about what will happen once the detectives start giving you the third degree and offering you a deal if you rat on your supplier.”
“That’s not me,” said Albert. “I know I have to take my knocks. That’s life. I won’t say anything.”
“That’s what they all say, Kid,” said Moses and as he said it his hand came out of his pocket with a twenty-two pistol and he shot Albert point blank between the eyes. He fell back, the chair crashing to the floor. Moses ran down the stairs to the street and was gone.
The waiter in Grandpa’s Restaurant had heard something but didn’t do anything of course. He did tell Ryan the next day that he thought something had happened. Ryan checked. The door was open and he found Albert dead on the floor.
The neighborhood community was very upset and shocked. Most of them didn’t know about Albert’s other life. To them he was a former altar boy, a hard-working college boy who took care of his mother and little sister. They couldn’t put the pieces together. It didn’t make sense to them and they thought, like all good people, that there must be a mistake. There was no mistake.
“That fuckin Moses,” Tom said to Red when they heard. “He did it absolutely. Shot between the eyes at close range. It was somebody he trusted and knew. And anyway, Moses didn’t want Albert answering any questions. That’s for sure.”
“How about the other guys they caught,” said Red.
“You think they will have anything to say after what happened to Albert?”
“I’m not liking this, Tom,” Red said, and Tom was amazed as this was the first time Red had said anything about anything.
“What do you mean, Lieutenant Red?” Tom said.
“We are going to take care of it, Tommy. Take this motherfucker off the board.”
“Oh.” said Tom, smiling. If anybody was capable of doing something it was Red if all the stories about his Vietnam career were true and they probably were.
“Let’s think, Tom, and not be dumb asses. Moses is connected all over the place. We can’t just shoot him. That will bring hellfire down on us. Think and then let’s make a plan, bide our time.”
There was a service for Albert at the church and a wake. Father Pavis said comforting things about the cruel world and the temptations of the devil on innocent children. Feraz never stopped crying and Gloria looked like she had no idea what had happened. She loved her brother and just could not accept that he was gone, killed, dead. And about drugs? She had no clue.
Red got more into chess, going over to Tom’s, and smoking a joint, playing chess and talking, getting to know each other. Moses still came by the TV shop once in a while and acted like he was broken up about Albert and had no idea what could have happened.
“Too bad about the Kid eh, Tom?” he said. “He got in with the wrong people I guess. Seemed like such a good boy.”
“Yeah, we miss him,” said Tom, “but what can you do?”
Everybody played along, scared of course.
Tom learned more about Red the sniper and how he sometimes had to wait weeks before he took out a target he was after, a Viet Cong officer or some other important enemy. They talked a lot and came up with a plan. Tom would tell Moses that Red had a good connection for Vietnamese weed that was even better, smoother, and stronger, than the Colombian and cheaper. They would invite Moses to try it in some relaxed, social situation. It would be laced with strychnine, a deadly poison that makes your muscles not work at all. They talked Juanita into helping. She could be in the back with Moses and distract him with her charms. They could all smoke but only Moses’s would be poisoned. They could iron out the details over the next weeks.
The idea was that they would take in the San Gennaro Street Fair in lower Manhattan, on the edge of Chinatown, where they could eat afterwards, but first they would take in the sunset at Manhattan Beach in Brooklyn, a nice plan. They would put some lawn chairs in the back of Tom’s big Pontiac so they could appear to be a party group enjoying the sunset by the water. They had to judge the tide in the East River which goes from low to high every six hours.
Strychnine was not easy to trace and if they did their work right nobody would look. The other part was that nobody could give a fuck about Moses anyway except the people he owed money. It was a fact that in New York only 60% of murders got cleared. About 30,000 murderers got away with it. Red knew all this, from A to Z. You didn’t survive two tours as a sniper in Vietnam by accident.
Mentioning Juanita would make a difference. Moses had seen her around and was interested but had never met her.
The next time Moses dropped by the TV shop to bullshit everybody with his extraverted crap, making a big deal about himself, talking trash, Tom caught him by the elbow and said,
“Come outside, I want to tell you something.”
“What’s up, Tommy?”
“Red has got a connection with some Vietnam Vets who are into some great weed. It is stronger and smoother than our stuff and cheaper too. He asked me to see if you would try it. Red is a good guy, two tours in Nam, a real patriot. He is looking to make something for himself. He’s a little lost as to what to do without the army.”
“Ok, Tommy, sure. How do you want to do this?”
“How about we make it a social thing. Let’s go to the San Genaro festival next week over in Little Italy. We can eat in Chinatown after that, have a good time. Susie from the building wants to go. I mentioned it to her and Juanita too.”
“Juanita? Wow. Now you’re talking!”
On the day of the festival Moses rolled up in front of Tom’s.
“Park your Caddie on Clinton or Joralemon and we will take my wreck. I have some beach chairs we can use to watch the sunset at Manhattan Beach.
“Ok, where’s Red and Juanita?”
“They are at the bar on Hicks having a soda pop. Pick them up there.”
Moses parked and got in with Tom and down the block they drove to where Red and Juanita were waiting. Susie had chickened out.
“Go ahead. Juanita and Moses in the back and me and Red in the front. She told me she wanted to meet you Moses.”
So far so good. They drove down to Manhattan Beach, parked the car, took out some lawn chairs and set them up by the water. The sun was starting to sink over lower Manhattan. The tide was out. The stage was set.
Red spoke, “You are going to like this, Moses. It is really strong but smooth and the price is right. See what you think.”
He passed the joints around making sure Moses got his first, like dealing cards. They all lit up and laid back enjoying the smoke and the scene. The weather was mild for September and the pungent smell of the low tide emanated from the mud flats. There were a few other people around but not close, people doing their own thing.
“Very nice,” said Moses, and he started to ask about the price and some questions about the supplier, business stuff. At about fifteen minutes he started to twitch.
“What’s going on? I don’t feel right.”
“You are not used to it. Let’s take a walk, move a little,” said Red.
“Fuck, I got no strength, can’t move a muscle. I think I pissed my pants.”
“We know you killed Albert.”
“Oh no.” And that was the last thing he could say. There was terror in his eyes.
Tom and Red helped him out of the chair and walked him over to the edge of the water. There were some big boulders and seaweed at the edge of the beach and they guided Moses that way. By now he was having convulsions and couldn’t talk. His legs were not working and all his weight was on Tom and Red. They dropped him in a flat space between the boulders as the tide started to come in.
“You got about an hour to think about what you did to Albert, you bastard, and we are going to sit here and make sure you are under water by the time we leave.”
Moses flopped around like a fish out of water for a while but he couldn’t do anything. Strychnine takes an hour or two to kill a person but Moses didn’t have that long. The tide took care of that. They made sure and waited until it was finished before folding up their chairs and heading back to Atlantic.
Tom got into Moses’s Caddy, not a problem for someone with his skills. He and Red drove it up to the South Bronx, parked it and left the doors open. They took the plates off and anything else that would say whose it was. It would be gone, stolen, or scavenged for parts before morning. Guaranteed.
They took the train back to Borough Hall. In the neighborhood they waited, tried to stay cool, hoped they were in the clear.
A few days later there was a small item in the paper that someone had drowned at Manhattan Beach.
Ricker Winsor
Surabaya, Indonesia
A Search for Meaning 