We Fall Down but We Get Up
Thomas’s POV
Man in front of me is in his late 20s, maybe early 30s. Cool. He’s been reading my application for the past ten minutes and he hasn’t said shit yet.
Piman told me I’d be tested. Wish I’d asked more questions about the test.
He finally looks up. Cold dark brown eyes, ponytail, strong nose. Looks like Piman’s cousin, the darker version. Expensive ass suit. Gotta be Cuban. Shit. I hate Cubans. Only one I like is Piman. Oh, and Danilo. They’re cool. I wonder if this is another entitled little shit.
He leans back in his chair and stares at me. “Why?”
What the fuck? “Why?”
He taps my application. “What can I get from you that I can’t get from another applicant?”
Skills, fucker. I got ’em. Can I say that?
“I have skills in a lot of areas.”
“Doing what?”
I’m quiet. I’ve never mentioned what I do aloud. “Moving product.”
He stares at me. “I have ten guys with experience ‘moving product’ and another forty in the app pile. What makes you different?”
“How about the fact that I never did time?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not what your app says.”
Shit! “I did time as a juvie. Not as an adult.”
“Means you were either low level or you weren’t persuasive.”
“How about I was good?” He’s pissing me off.
“No. If you were good, you would’ve moved up in the ranks.” He nods at me. “Nice tat. You’re a Reyes—”
“Was. Was a Reyes.”
Tiny smile. “Was a Reyes. I know Piman. You would have moved up, and fast, if you were good.”
I sit back. OK, that just took a turn I didn’t expect. He knows Piman? How well? Or is he just throwing the name around?
He leans forward. “At RangeMan, you should try telling the truth. With me? You should always tell the truth. I have years of experience with people lying and twisting words with me. I’m not fooled easily.” He sits back in his seat. “And I don’t name drop.”
Fuck! OK. I think of something to say. I need a job. Mack’s counting on me.
“I have an encyclopedic knowledge of the Miami ports. I know every way to move product in and out of this country that you can think of. I’ve moved every product you can think of, bar a few, and probably a few you haven’t. My nerves are jangly but I don’t want to work the docks. I want to use that knowledge for something good and I want a decent salary.” I nod at the papers. “I managed an AA, no farther. I can’t do shit with my knowledge that will pay unless I get a good job. That’s why I applied here.”
I clench my jaw then loosen it. Gotta keep my poker face straight. This fucker is still cold. Finally, he presses a button on his phone.
“Yes?”
“Opinion.”
“One moment.” Fifteen seconds later, a massive black mountain moves into the room. He stares at me for what seems like forever and I know not to drop my gaze. I know not to look away. He breaks eye contact, they share a glance and he walks out. The Cuban makes a mark on my application.
“I’ll let you know Mr. Williams. Have a good day.”
I’m escorted to the entrance and I walk back into the Miami heat and sun. I get in my car and look at the stack of applications in my passenger seat.
I swallow hard. I gotta get my shit tight. Mack’s counting on me. I can’t let him or Yala down.
I pick up my next application. FedEx. I swallow my pride and turn on my car.
Gotta get that hustle. Gotta make that money.
—oOo—
My phone rings two days later. I just sent money to finish paying off Mack’s lawyer. Fifty G’s. I wrote that check and felt sick but the amount of drugs Mack had on him screamed serious time. Nah. Couldn’t let Mack serve ten to twenty in prison. Can’t let my godsons forget their Daddy.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Williams?”
The Cuban. I sit. “Yes?”
“This is Ranger Mañoso at RangeMan. Calling to inform you that you’ve been selected to join our newest RangeMan class. Still interested?”
I let out a silent breath. “Yes. What do I need to do?”
“Induction starts July 5th. Training is here at RangeMan and you will be paid. I’m sending you a packet of rules and forms you’ll need to fill out and bring with you on day one. Questions?”
“How long is training?”
“Ninety days. You’re a probationary RangeMan during that time. After that, if you pass, you’re a full RangeMan and we’ll determine your duties and responsibilities then. Any other questions?”
His voice is suggesting that perhaps I shouldn’t have too many. “Nah. Thank you. Appreciate it.”
“Congratulations. Look forward to seeing you July 5th.” Click.
I lean back and smile. I did it. I got a straight job. Now, to make it through.
—oOo—
Mack’s POV
Clank.
Another day, another dinner. I sit on my cot, take out the two pics from Yala’s latest letter and stare.
Ahmed’s getting big. Yala must’ve made funny faces before they took the picture. That’s the only way my son grins like that. His third birthday is next week. My present was in the trunk of the car. I hope Yala remembered to get it out for him.
“Staring at ’em again?”
Zuniega is my cell mate. He’s not impressed. He was picked up on a minor possession charge and he only has six months in this hell hole.
I got another two years. Thirty months total.
“Yeah.”
He snorts. “Yeah, well, don’t start thinking he’ll remember you when you get out. Mine never do. Gotta start all over from the beginning, son.”
That shit scares me. Yala was pissed when I got picked up but, so far, she’s brought the boys to see me every other weekend. My wife is holding it down for me. My family’s keeping shit tight too. My mamí’s babysitting so Yala can work and, since this is some ‘been there, done that’ shit for her, she’s Yala’s rock right now. Thomas? Yo, never expected Thomas to come through like he did. He worked with Yala and my lawyers to get me a light sentence.
If Petey wasn’t dead already, I’d kill him.
I lie back on my cot and put my pics under my pillow. Ahmed, getting big, smiling for the pics. I wonder if Hamid is sleeping through the night yet. Probably not.
Don’t start thinking he’ll remember you when you get out. Mine never do. Gotta start all over from the beginning, son.
I swallow hard and ignore the hot tears in my eyes.
Shit. No weed in the world is worth this.
My boys are my world. I was there, both times, when they were born and I saw a miracle twice over. Yala’s beautiful. Strong. Powerful. My wife’s strength and beauty humbled me ‘cuz she was a warrior giving birth to my two big-headed boys. Me? Nah, I doubt that shit woulda gone down if it had been me.
You couldn’t get a dick near me if it’d been me.
Now I’m locked up over weed. Weed? Versus my boys?
Never again. If I ever get out of here, Yala ain’t got to worry about me going back in.
Gotta start all over from the beginning, son.
Nah, son. This shit won’t happen ever again.
—oOo—
Every day is the same. Wake up, make up my cot, defunk. Get a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for breakfast, read the paper, work out. Go to lunch. Watch TV. Stay out of fights. Chow, brush my teeth, stare at my boys.
Write letters. Education is not a joke. I spend hours writing those letters. My spelling is shit. I’m tryin’ to put my thoughts, my feelings, on paper for my boys and my wife and it won’t flow.
I’m no rapper. I just got simple shit I wanna say and I can’t say it.
I try to finish one letter a night. Get it ready for mail call, climb on my cot and try to sleep. Start all over the next day.
Whoever thinks prison ain’t shit needs to holla at ya’ boy. It’s not cool. It’s the ultimate fucked up. You don’t get a say in shit you do. You gotta watch for booty bandits and bugs1. Every day is the same shit. If I’m not careful, I’ll forget Saturday’s comin’ and Yala will bring my boys to see me.
Saturday visiting hours makes this shit bearable.
“Mail call.”
I look up. Maybe I’ll get something. Maybe not.
“Odom?” I look over. Bug’s waving a letter. “You want your shit?”
I hop up and jog over. He hands me the letter and I check the return. Miami.
Thomas.
I tear it open and read.
Son,
Got a 9-5. You wanna appeal? Crapshot at best, but you might get out sooner. I’ll try to hit NYC when you get out, help you get what you need. Stay strong.
Thomas
Thanks, cuz. I owe you one that I can never repay.
—oOo—
Three Months Later
Thomas’s POV
I’m back in front of Mando. He’s under siege.
Slice quit. No idea why. I’m sure we’ll find out in a few days but for right now, shit’s crucial.
Slice was the liaison. Slicker fucker you never wanna meet. Wouldn’t give you a straight answer on shit.
I admired his style.
Mando’s staring at me again. I hate when he does that. He’s not Tank. The LC? They scare me. Four men sharing one mind?
Something fucked up about that.
I was in the last RangeMan Miami class they brought over before they left for Boston and I got a chance to get to know them. Well, as well as anyone knows them. Great bosses and Mando?
Mando was the right choice for Miami. So was Slice. I wonder what happened.
Mando pulls out a tape recorder and presses record.
“Tell me about yourself.”
WTF? I stare at Mando. He nods.
“OK. Thomas Williams Mercado—”
“Mother’s maiden?”
I nod. “Yes. Mom’s Dominican. Pops is black and Cuban. They met here in Miami.” Mando nods. “Mom’s a LPN, Pops’s a mechanic. I’m the eldest of six”—he smiles—”and I’m 26.”
“What did you do prior to RangeMan?”
“I moved product.” He nods again but I don’t say anything. I’m not elaborating on shit while the tape recorder is going. “I went to college, Miami-Dade, and got my AA in English—”
“Why English?”
“Words are dangerous. A man who can wield them is deadly. Fuck guns and knives. Castro and Trujillo had guns and knives but they also had words. Eva Peron had words. Che Guevara and Cesar Chavez had words.” He raises an eyebrow. “Yo, chick over in China right now under house arrest, she only has words. Whole fucking country run by the military but she’s got words. Scarin’ ’em shitless.”
“Myanmar, actually.” He nods, a small smile on his face. It’s the one place where we agree.
Politics.
Well, everything except that ‘wet-foot, dry-foot’ bullshit that favors Cubans above all else. We argue about that shit with passion. Otherwise? Me and Mando are on the same page politically.
I nod. “I respect that power. You use the right words and you can inspire men to fight and die for you.” I grin. “Ranger. Man doesn’t speak often, but when he does he uses the right words. Nothing worse than losing his respect. Nothing better than his approval. We’d fight like hell for him. You did.”
“And would again.” We both grin. “Why not history?”
“History will teach you to analyze the past. Look at the setting, the build up, how you got there. Think about how to avoid making the same mistake again. That’s good, but knowing how to analyze the words, the sentence structure, the flow? What inspired men to do what they did? Pay attention to that.”
I grin. “We confused the entire fucking world into ignoring Afghanistan and attacking Iraq. That’s power but how? We sent Colin Powell to use his words.” I shrug. “Congress was swayed to put ‘Parental Warning’ stickers on CDs because the rappers’ words scared the shit outta them.”
“Useless exercise,” Mando mutters with a grin.
“Exactly. Napster, motherfucker.” We both laugh. Downloading shit you couldn’t buy legally was no joke. I got half my collection like that. “They tried to censor the words and ended up with iTunes. If you forget to set the parental settings, your eight year old can still rock to Tupac. No one remembers homie who talked before Lincoln at Gettysburg but I bet you can recite parts of Lincoln’s speech. Everyone can stumble through the beginning.”
“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
Mando recites. I nod, amused.
“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.”
I roll my eyes. “Show off. Forgot you were a history major.”
Mando laughs. “Yeah. Clearly you did, but I agree. The simplicity of the speech is what makes it memorable.
¿Palabras? ya sé, palabras,
No me las puedes decir;
Pero mirarme sí puedes:—
¡Basta para vivir!”
I shrug. Mando looks smug. “Martí.”
Damn! I shoulda known that one. “Martí. Exactly my point. No guns, no knives, just words. And, from what I hear, every fifth thing in Cuba is named Martí.” OK, that’s a Cuban I admire. Mando laughs, shaking his head.
“Combine the best of the best, history and poetry. A poet who inspired a nation to fight back.” Mando smirks.
“Exactly. Wherever you find a dictator in this world, you find a man who knows how to wield words. Politicians, businessmen, poets, rappers, they all paint a picture with words. They get people excited or calm ’em with words. Confuse or clarify.”
I lean forward. “I studied English because I like words. Use the right words and you can get out of a jam or get yourself firmly stuck in one. Lawyers? They can make people miserable or happy with words. Sway twelve people to kill or free a man with words. Every hustler needs to understand the power of words.”
“Consider political science.”
“Why?”
Mando smiles. “You like political theory. You like to study the thoughts of thinkers, their words, how people use words to influence others. Political science touches on all of that. Give it some thought.” He turns the tape recorder off and leans forward. “Slice got a new job.”
“Word?”
Mando nods. “Working for a veterans support and outreach group. It’s personal for him.”
I nod. Completely feel him on that.
“Miami needs a liaison. You’re good.” He smiles. “Very good. Can’t get a straight answer out of you about shit most days.” He smirks. “At the end of this conversation, all I’ve learned about you is that your parents met here in Miami.”
I laugh. I know. No one knows much about me in this branch and I want to keep it that way.
“I need a man who knows how to deflect answers while staying on topic. A man who knows how to wield words. You’re the best in this branch. Interested?”
I blink. “Management?”
Mando sits back. “Management.”
“I just got off probation.”
“Skills and abilities. That’s what I care about.”
—oOo—
Mando’s red. Bobby Brown hasn’t looked at me since I failed medical.
OK, I gotta leave the hot wings alone. My ass put on weight. I was sluggish and lazy during the physical. I didn’t expect it. Not two fucking weeks later!
Sixty eight percent. I’m officially on probation. Again. My fat ass might get fired.
Brown waves his hand and Mando leaves the room. Brown points me to a chair. He stares at me for a moment before speaking.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to know why. I don’t give a fuck.” He pulls his chair over and sits in front of me. “Let me tell you my standards for the men who work under me.”
His eyes are blazing. He’s furious.
“I don’t accept excuses. I don’t accept bullshit. You want to work somewhere where second best is acceptable, find a new fucking job. You work here, you give 110%. All day. Every day.” He sits up. “Mando suggested you might be the right man to be the liaison. I disagree.” He stares at me.
“Being in management means being visible. Not just to the men here. You’re visible to our partners and our enemies. You’re visible to the cops and the crooks. You’re visible within the company and outside of it. And that means that everywhere you go, in everything you do, you rep RangeMan. You rep me.” He leans in close. “When you rep me, you don’t give me second best. You either come correct or don’t come at all. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
He pushes away from me and makes notes. I try not to say anything. Bobby Brown can give you a verbal beat down like none other. I consider his words. It was both a beat down and a charge.
Get your shit together.
Don’t embarrass the men who put themselves on the line for you.
Don’t embarrass this company.
Ranger knows how to wield his words but I was wrong. Bobby Brown is the liaison for a reason. That speech? I need to go write that one down fast. That was a verbal beatdown, a charge, a statement of expectation, and a reminder all in one.
He wields words. My respect for Bobby Brown just zoomed.
He finishes his notes and stands. He stares at me coldly. “When I come back to reassess you, I expect you to give me 110%. Understood?” I nod. “I’m going to allow you to fill in as the liaison temporarily, because Miami needs one right now. Don’t get comfortable. The job is most definitely not yours.”
He walks out. The door closes quietly behind him and I sit and swallow hard. I walk out ten minutes later. Mando’s staring at me.
“0600.”
I nod and slump away to my cubicle. Fifteen minutes later, Diego appears with boxes.
“Come on. Pack up.” I stare at him. He shrugs. “Office is yours temporarily.” He passes me the boxes then motions for me to follow him. I walk into my future office and he closes the door behind me.
“What did you first pass standards at?”
“Seventy three percent.”
He shakes his head. “You need to put a safe zone between you and probation.” I raise an eyebrow. “My score is 78%. If I slip, I might pass at 72% or 73%, but I won’t go under minimums.” He claps me on the back. “You know Bobby is the dangerous one on the mats, right?”
“I’m afraid of Ranger.”
Diggy smiles. “Ranger and Bobby do not meet on the mats unless they have to.”
I blink. “That serious?”
“That serious.” Diego is solemn. “Ranger is a man of few words and fewer emotions. Disappoint Ranger and you wonder if you’ll ever regain his respect. You’ll never get a clue if you have or not. Bobby punishes and forgives. Disappoint Bobby and you just have to live through the punishment because he’s not gonna let your fuck up ruin his day. Ranger will make you suffer. Bobby will make you bleed. Right now, you’re gonna bleed. Do it again and you’ll truly suffer.”
I snort. “Like I said, I’m afraid of Ranger.”
Diego shakes his head. “I never said you wouldn’t get Bobby again a second time around. Pain and suffering? Sucks to be you.” Diego walks out. I sit in my temporary office and look around.
Good point.
I start writing Bobby’s charge down. I’m posting that one. I’ll never forget that. 110%. Always.
—oOo—
The next night, I pull up the score chart for military fitness standards. My body is sore in places I didn’t realize existed. Mando was furious. Apparently, Bobby called his judgment into question. He’s barely been the XO six months. That’s the last thing he wants after he fought to get Miami. The interview tape impressed the LC but if I can’t do simple shit, I can’t be a leader here.
I got one strike against me: I’m an ex-hood. I got another strike against me: I failed medical. Nah, time to prove Mando did the right thing in trying to promote me from jump.
My new goal? Eighty percent.
And perhaps I’ll look into my poets a bit more. Starting with Marti.
—oOo—
Two Years Later
Mack’s POV
Yala pressed my slacks and I’m in a polo. Collar done up. Yala wanted me to wear a tie. Nah, I’m not goin’ that far. I don’t want to look like a clown to get a job.
I’m sitting in RangeMan’s lobby. Something about this lobby’s not right. I’m feelin’ . . . intimidated. I look around. I’m not the only one. Six more men here and we all feel . . . hesitant. I’m not military. Why am I here?
Right. Thomas. He said give RangeMan NYC a chance. They’re new and they need men. OK. I’ve been tryin’ to get a job, but no one’s willing to hire an ex-con.
No one.
“McKinley Odom?”
I nod. Homie’s six foot. Blonde. Blue eyes. Prison muscles. I wonder where he did time. I follow him into a room and take a seat.
“I’m Shane Wilder. Welcome to RangeMan NYC.”
“Thanks. Where you serve?”
He was looking at my papers. He looks up sharply. “Excuse me?”
I’m feelin’ nervous again. “Where you serve?”
He’s quiet. “I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
I’m curlin’ my toes inside my shoes. Nervous habit. “Yo, son, yo muscles got muscle.” I smile. “Haven’t seen anybody that cut outside a prison yard.”
He stares at me for a long time and he never smiles.
We go through my application and experience but it’s like he’s checking boxes off. I’m in and out in ten minutes.
I walk to the subway station and swallow hard. Nah. I failed that.
Guess I shoulda said something different.
—oOo—
“How did your interview go?”
Abuela is making mondongo criollo. I won’t be staying for dinner. I hate tripe. The kitchen is hot and humid, like Abuela’s trying to start her own weather in here. It feels like every trip I ever took to the DR.
“Not great.” I sigh. “I asked him where he served. Offended him.”
Abuela laughs. “White boy?” I nod. “I bet it did. Bet he didn’t even wonder if you meant military.”
I consider her words and nod. “Yeah, except I said I’d never seen muscles like that outside a prison yard.”
Abuela clucks her tongue. “Mack.”
“Yeah.” I feel like an idiot.
She points to the fridge and I take a look. Jackpot! Stewed goat. I can get with this. I nuke it and settle in. Delicious. Can’t no one cook like my abuela.
“So, what’s next?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call Thomas and let him know I bombed.” Abuela looks at me. “I applied but I didn’t hear anything. I got the interview cuz Thomas told his boss I was family but he told me I’d have to clear NYC on my own.”
“Why them?” She offers me a taste. I shake my head and she laughs. She knows I’m not cool on tripe.
“I heard they’ll hire a hood. I figured I stood a chance.”
“Did you talk to the man in charge?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Didn’t meet him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Javier Cruz.”
Abuela turns to me. “Javier?” I nod.
Abuela hums and I finish the bowl of goat and rice. I wash the dishes and kiss her cheek. “Gotta go. Imma pick the boys up from day care. See you later.”
I walk to the door and hear her say, “See you later, Mack.”
—oOo—
I’m thinking tripe for dinner might not have been so bad.
“All you had to do was play it straight!” Yala screams. “Don’t try to be funny. Just get the fucking job! Thomas set the shit up for you! How could you fuck it up at hello?!”
I duck the saucer thrown at my head. Yala’s on a rampage. She quit her third job today, expecting me to get the RangeMan job. Shit! I gotta get a job.
Eventually she just runs her hands through her hair. “Now what? Now fucking what?” she mutters, pacing in the kitchen. I feel shamed. I can’t hold my wife down and she’s stressing.
I hear my cell start ringing and Med, always helpful, comes running in with it. “Daddy—”
Yala snatches it, looks, and snarls, “Blocked number? Which one of your bitches is it this time?” She presses the answer button. “Hello?”
Five seconds later, her entire demeanor changes. “Yes, how can I help you?” All soft and professional. Sexy. I’m wondering what’s up. “Yes, he is here. One moment.” She hands me the phone. “Liam Hannigan, RangeMan NYC.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this McKinley?”
“Yes.”
“Hi. Liam here. I’d like you to come in for a second interview. Tomorrow if possible. Do you have time?”
“What time would you like me to be there?” Yala looks hopeful. She picks Med up and they both stare at me, smiles on their faces.
“Eight would be good.”
“I’ll be there.”
Click.
I look over. “Second interview.”
She glares at me. “Don’t make jokes this time.”
—oOo—
“McKinley?”
I look up. This one is five-nine or five ten, tan, easy smile. Polo and Khakis, like me. “Liam Hannigan. Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
The guy I interviewed with yesterday steps out, stares at me, and looks at Liam. “Liam, one moment.”
Liam turns to me, motions for me to chill, and follows the other guy into an office. Five minutes later, he returns, a small smile on his face. Shane looks pissed. Liam motions for me to follow him and we sit in the conference room I was in yesterday.
“Water?”
I nod, grateful to have something to do. Meanwhile, Shane joins us and closes the door. I turn to him.
“Yo, if I offended you yesterday, my bad. You’re cut, homes. Was trying to give you a compliment.”
“You compliment as bad as you apologize.”
Liam snorts and looks at me. “Not an NYC native,” he says, smiling. “Shane’s got a stick up his ass today. Boss is riding him.”
I nod but I can’t smile. I’m tryna keep it serious. Shane’s staring daggers. I look around the room. No windows, one door, gray. I’m feeling Riker’s interview room. Even the chairs remind me of prison. This is supposed to be a classy outfit. This shit’s makin’ me nervous. I’m not confessing to shit!
Liam reviews my application, we rap a little about NYC weather, and ignore Shane. I’m still trying to think of something to say that won’t offend Mr. Stick in his Ass.
“Yo, what’s up with your lobby? Is that just designed to fuck with people or what?”
Liam’s head snaps up. “Explain.”
I swallow hard. “It’s uncomfortable.” I smile nervously. “I mean, I expect someone to walk in with a rocket launcher.”
He sits back. “Thoughts on this room?”
“Riker’s interview room.” I look down. “You steal the chairs? I’m havin’ flashbacks.” I snort. “Gonna handcuff me to the table? It’s designed for it.”
Shane and Liam stare at each other. Liam smirks and nods, looking superior. Eventually he smiles then laughs and shakes his head. He settles back in the chair and turns my papers over.
“Let’s talk.”
—oOo—
We get comfortable and rap. Shane’s a former bodybuilder and bodyguard. Used to work for a bodyguard outfit and brought over a lot of contracts when RMNYC went live. He’s hustlin’ to get those contracts. I respect that. I tell them about my stint and why I’m out. Liam’s curious about my boys, so I pull my wallet, show him my sons.
They never forgot me. Yala brought ’em every weekend I had visitation. She held it down.
They admire my boys and passes the pics back over. “So the prison life is done?” Liam asks.
“Hell yeah.” I put the boys back in my wallet. “Yo, first man I served with, he peeped that wisdom on me.” Shane leans forward. “He said, Don’t start thinking he’ll remember you when you get out. Mine never do. Gotta start all over from the beginning, son.” Liam nods, sober. “Yeah. That’s all I needed to hear. My boys? My boys are my world. I don’t want them to forget Daddy.”
“Understood.” First look of respect I’ve seen on Shane’s face all morning.
“You got some?”
“Nah, but I got nieces and nephews. I love ’em. Spend as much time with ’em as I can.” I look at Liam.
“Same here. Relative, cousins, none of my own. I understand, though.”
I shake my head. “Nah, son, you don’t. Until you hold that tiny little body in your hands at three in the morning and he pees in your face”—they laugh—”you don’t understand, son. Ain’t another fucker in the entire world that can piss in my face and I’ll still love him except my boys.”
—oOo—
Thomas’s POV
“Yo!”
“‘Sup?” I’m looking at Bobby’s latest instructions. Bobby’s communications are always crystal clear. Terse. I think the LC set themselves a challenge: Communicate in ten words or less.
Tank’ll win. Les doesn’t stand a chance.
“I got the job!” I put the message from Bobby down and grin.
“For real, son?” I asked Mando to do me a favor and lean on Javi to look at Mack again. Mando’s the shit!
“Yeah! Training starts in two weeks and Liam told me shit’s major, son. Gotta find a short-term hustle until then but—”
I hear yelling in the background and I roll my eyes. Yala. Fuck. Mack chose a beauty and Yala’s fierce, I give her that, but she’s fucking crazy! Shit, Mack can’t help his looks and that’s what she’s givin’ him grief about. Some woman slipped her digits under the door with a ‘Call me’ message. Now it’s Mack’s fault. And since Mack walked into the house on the phone, he must be talking to another one of his bitches.
Does this woman realize the man just got out of prison? Shit, I admire Mack’s ability to pull ’em, but even he needs some time to decompress from that shit. Instead, Mack’s out tryna get a job and hold it down for her!
“Yo, son—” He sounds tired. Shit. That’s Yala. Mack’s gone from excited and happy to tired and depressed. The woman has power.
“Hand her the phone.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
I hear him hand her the phone, saying “Here. You talk.”
“Who the fuck is this?” Yala snarls.
“Hi, Yala,” I reply calmly. “This is Thomas. How are you?”
“Thomas? I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I could ask you the same damn thing. By the way, you know Mack got the job, right? I was congratulating him and he couldn’t wait to tell you, but he hits the house and before he can say shit, you’re screaming about some other shit.”
She’s finally shut up.
“If Mack hadn’t got the job today and was on the phone with a recruiter or someone trying to get a job, I wonder if they’d hire him, with someone screaming and cussin’ his ass out in the background.”
“Fuck you, Thomas,” she says tightly. She must’ve handed the phone back to Mack cuz I hear, “We will talk about that note when you get off the phone.”
“Thanks,” Mack says quietly.
“No prob.” We rap on RangeMan guidelines, what he should expect during training and what his life will be like. I tell him to go ahead and prep Yala so she’ll know what’s up. Otherwise, she’ll think his ass is runnin’ ’round on her. We hang up, me congratulating him again and telling him to make sure he bonds tight with the men in his recruit class. They’ll always be there for him.
I sit back in my seat and sigh. I hope to God Mack kicks that crazy bitch to the curb someday. Either she trusts him or she doesn’t. It’s like the fact that Mack married her ass means nothing. She’s treating him like a boyfriend or a child instead of a man who just happens to be her husband.
She’ll learn, one day, that when Mack says he’s down, he means that.
-oOo-
I leave my office and go searching for Mando. He and Diego are grinning.
“Sup?” They look too fucking happy.
“Bodyguard contracts are picking up and we got a mention in two of the local magazines.”
They toss me the mags. I grin. Couple guys in all black and another few in suits and ties. We look good.
Les’ll be pleased. This magazine publicity was his idea and Diego and Mando pushed for it. Now we’re making money hand over fist. I retrained the entire fucking department. I’m not saying that Ranger doesn’t know how to bodyguard. I’m saying I know how to do it better.
Mando closes the door and he and Diego stare at me.
“Ranger and Piman talk.” I nod. I already don’t like where this conversation is headed. “Ranger wanted your full background. So do I.” Mando’s eyes are boring into me. “What you tell us goes nowhere, but I need to know what I need to be on the lookout for.”
I’m silent. Sorry, but I don’t speak of it.
The standoff continues until Diego motions for me to sit. “We’ve never asked because it’s clear you don’t like talking about it. But we’ve had an increase in feds here.”
“And?”
“They want Ranger’s help finding someone named Raptor.”
I struggle not to move a muscle. Inside I’m shaking like a leaf.
Mando’s seated, fingers pitched, eyes hooded. Ranger pose. “We think, we don’t know, but we think Ranger asked around enough to find out who Raptor is. Every time the feds have shown here to talk about him, Ranger made sure you weren’t here.”
I swallow and hope it wasn’t visible. They share a glance. It was.
Diego nods. “Yeah. Every time they show, you’ve been elsewhere. Just in case they have warrants. We’ve done our part. Now trust us. What’s your true past?”
The door behind us opens and Ranger steps through. He strides over to Mando’s desk, perches on a corner and stares at me.
“My only question.” I nod. “Women?”
Piman told him. “No, sir. My limit.”
He stares at me. “Tell them. They need to know. I’ll bury it.” He leaves. The guys stare.
I swallow hard and start telling them about Raptor. At the end, I’m waiting for the questions and the scorn. Instead, Diego turns to Mando and rolls his eyes.
“If he’d been in the military, they’d call him a fucking genius.”
I look up, a frown on my face. Both are smiling.
“Supply chain management. That’s where they would have placed you,” Mando says. “The ability to get something from point A to point B with minimal fuss, loss, or confusion? The military thrives on that shit.” Mando grins. “No wonder Tank loves your ass.”
Tank? Really? I smile. Damn near impossible to impress him.
Diego sighs and sits in the seat next to me. “How many of the men outside know?”
“None. I did my work silently, from the shadows. Only Piman knew my identity.”
“Because you moved for him?” I nod. “Makes sense.”
“Women?” I look over at Mando. He’s frowning. “He wanted you to traffic women?”
“He got an offer. I took one look at the first shipment and said hell no. Since I wouldn’t, he turned it down but you know Piman.”
They both nod. At the end of the day, Piman has his own moral code. I’m not sure what makes it up, but I know ‘Will it make money?’ is at the top, followed closely by ‘What’s the risk?’. Piman’s been at the top for so long because, unlike most hoods, he chooses rackets that don’t require open bloodshed and risk. So while the Reyes in Miami have a lock on the drug game, Piman’s real money comes from other sources, like identity fraud, forgery, arms trafficking, and extortion. Piman likes rackets that work from the shadows.
Piman and Mando don’t exactly get along. Piman’s moral code is a little grayer than Mando’s comfortable with and he doesn’t hide it. Piman won’t accept disrespect from anyone, especially when he’s feeding us as much info as he does. I’m the buffer, me and Pedro. We keep Mando and Piman apart.
Knowing Piman even considered trafficking woman will not help him in Mando’s eyes. If nothing else, Mando respects women. Mari I understand. His mamí I don’t. But I worked for Piman for years and while Mando is only considering sex work, I notice Diego’s more thoughtful. As someone who entered this country via coyotes, he knows the word ‘trafficking’ has a wider use.
I do know that ‘Protect my men’ is at the very top of Piman’s moral code, like Ranger. I turned the opportunity down, citing risk. Piman left it alone after that. He trusted me, his lieutenant, to be straight with him. Besides, Piman’s not into prostitution. It was the one thing his superiors gave him grief about. In Miami, if he’d had a racket pimpin’ he’d have made serious money.
Piman turned that down. Too many potential witnesses, he said. Too much drama. And honestly, I think that might’ve been his line too.
Mando sighs. “What’s up?”
“Thanks for leaning on Javi.” He stares at me. “To convince him to hire my cousin. He’s excited.”
Mando smiles. “I didn’t have to do much. Apparently someone else leaned on him first.”
I frown. “Who?”
Mando shrugs. “Don’t know.” His mouth twists in amusement. “Javi wouldn’t say.”
“Miracle,” Diego says, amused. “We’ll find out in a few weeks anyway.”
True. NYC leaks like a sieve.
—oOo—
One Year Later
Thomas’s POV
I leave my office and go searching for Mando. He’s leaning against his door, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What’s up?”
He snorts. “You ever do something you know was stupid and, even while you were doing it, you couldn’t help but think, ‘You idiot!'”
I smirk. “Every day before I joined this outfit. What did you do?”
“Hired my asshole cousin.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That bad?”
Mando looks over. I memorize his face in this moment. It’s the face of a man who knows it’s just a moment too late to take back a massive mistake.
“You’ll see.”
—oOo—
Mack’s POV
“Yo, son, I work for Poindexter. What the fuck!”
Thomas is laughing his ass off. “Poindexter?”
“Poindexter, Carlton, Oreo,”—he laughs harder—”this fucker has to starch and iron his shorts every morning.”
Thomas peeped me to the game. He’s major, the Miami liaison, management, making that serious paper. The whole family’s proud. He’s cool. He makes less now than he did moving ‘product’, but the threat of jail is gone.
Ranger himself took care of that.
If I needed a reason to be loyal, that’s it.
Anyway, he told me that after he nearly got kicked out he needed to make sure his shit stayed tight. Don’t fuck up. Show he’s got some sense. He’s got a record, drugs, like me, and Mando went to bat for him. So he’s tryna hold Mando down. Same for me. If I wanna show that Javi, well Liam, did right to hire me, keep my shit tight. Obey orders. Do what’s right.
And get my physical up to 80%.
Shit, didn’t have to tell me that. Les was here the day Bobby came for a pop health assessment. I was still a recruit. Now, I’m not gay. Don’t swing that way. But looking at Bobby, Les, and Javi?
Fuck Shane. Shane could barely pass. His ass wasn’t flexible and he didn’t have any stamina. Javi might be irritating white bread and he can’t fight for shit, but fucker passed at 77%. Major.
Shane looks built. Javi is built.
Second thing I respect homie for. He keeps all standards at RM-NYC. Nothing slacks there.
He just can’t make a fuckin’ decision.
—oOo—
“Man, I’da knifed him on the streets,” Doobie grouses. I nod. I can’t respect Shane. He’s pissed and working on that shank cuz he failed to get a contract today. He thinks he’s gonna whine and complain to us.
We don’t wanna hear that shit. Your job is to get the contracts. Our job is to work them.
Fucker has no idea what he’s doing. Shane hates me. I think he knows I don’t respect his ass. I ran a crew of twenty on the streets and I know how to hustle. He doesn’t. He can’t. I’ve seen his style. It’s shit.
But he got the title and, third thing I gotta respect Javi for, Javi’s loyal to his peeps. Shane’s the strategist. Disrespect management and that’s yo’ ass. So we watch Shane do the same shit over and over again and fail.
When is Javi gonna realize his strategist is not major enough for NYC? He’s no boss baller. He’s no shot caller. I wouldn’t have trusted him to hold my left nut on the streets.
Right now I’m working a double shift on the monitors. I switched with Levi. I got two of his shittiest assignments but I got Saturday off. That’s what I wanted.
Ahmed’s got a futbol game Saturday.
—oOo—
The divorce is nasty. Right now, I’m not sure if I miss her, hate her, or love her, but I do know I want this shit over with. I feel like a failure, calling quits on my marriage. Even my mamí is looking at me sideways for it. She’s still holding it down for Pops and his ass been locked up forever.
If I loved Yala, she says, I’d make it work. I get out, after thirty months, and ditch Yala after she held it down for me. If my mamí was lookin’ to make a homie feel low, she got me in the right spot.
I love Yala. But I love me and I love my boys much more.
I went clubbing with the RM-NYC men after we passed and became true ‘RangeMen’. First time ever. I missed all the parties and the clubbing when we were recruits cuz every time I told Yala about the plans, she blew the fuck up. Accused me of cheating. So to keep her quiet, I stayed home and missed out on everything.
After running from Hicksville to Brooklyn, I felt I deserved to party with my new homies. A bunch of hoods running from Long Island to Brooklyn? We got stopped by the cops six fucking times! We were harassed and nearly run over a few times. We made it back in six and a half hours only because Levi’s smooth with the cops. So yeah, she could blow the fuck up all she wanted, but I was going clubbin’ with everyone else.
And she blew up. Attacked me with my shit from the moment I hit the door. Five in the morning and I had to duck plates, shoes, knives, every fucking thing because we decided to hit an IHOP after the club. So I walked in at five instead of three like I told her. The neighbors called the cops, thinking I was beating her ass. The cops showed, arrested her crazy ass and took her to jail. I had to calm the boys cuz they woke up confused and scared.
It was an all-around shitty morning but RangeMan brotherhood is major. I called Doobie. He was supposed to be off but he covered my shift. Even better, I finally met his wifey. She dropped by and took the boys to school and daycare for me since it was on the way to work for her. I’da kissed her if I didn’t know Doobie would shank me for it.
After watching me pick up her shit, one of the cops, a brother, took me to the side.
“Homes, I’m not gonna tell you what to do in your marriage. Right?” I nodded. “But Imma speak to you as one brother to another, aigh? Not a cop right now.”
I grinned. “You just play one in real life.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Anyway, son, you being abused.”
My mouth curled up into a laugh and he shook his head. “Nah, hear me out, young buck. Abuse takes a lot of different forms. Put her in your position. Is the shit she’s doing to you, would that be cool if you did it to her?”
No. That answer came quick and I had to stop and think on that.
He patted my back. “Your boys are watchin’ their Daddy get verbally beat up and watchin’ him duck shit just cuz Mommy’s unhappy. She can’t handle adult emotions with adult responses and if this was her, we woulda hauled your ass to jail and made sure you hit some shit on the way there. But because it’s her, we’re being polite and kind.”
He jerked his chin toward my living room. Looked like a bomb went off in there.
“All it takes is one time. One time where she calls saying you abusin’ her and you won’t believe the support and lawyers that’ll come in to help her bury your ass. They’ll slap you with a domestic violence charge that’ll make it impossible for you to see your boys. Keep it clean. Figure out what you need to do.” He stared at me. “Don’t let your boys grow up thinking this is cool.”
—oOo—
First time in my life I respected a cop, but he was right. I didn’t bail her ass out of jail. I spent a few days thinking. Every time I pissed her off, I had to duck shit. Meanwhile, I get angry and I leave till I calm down but when I come back I get accused of cheating. No matter what, I’m accused of cheating.
Abuela sniffed. “Hit dog will holla,” she said Sunday afternoon. I took the boys to her house for dinner. She promised not to feed them tripe. My mamí was mad at me cuz Yala had been in jail for four days.
I frowned. What the fuck? She smiled at me. “Only a guilty person screams louder than anyone else.”
“Yeah, but—”
“McKinley, don’t be foolish,” she snapped. I clenched my jaw and looked at her. “Your mamí is holding it down for your dumb ass daddy because she knows that his ass ain’t fuckin’ nobody in the pen. You got your daddy’s looks, mijo,” she said, patting my cheek. “That means women will throw themselves at you until the day you die. You need a strong woman by your side, one who isn’t threatened by other women because she knows her man is down. Yala ain’t it, chiquito. Not when she’s screamin’ like that.”
She stirred her beans. “You give her any reason, any reason at all, to think you runnin’ ’round?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then ignore yo’ mamí and do what’s right for your sons.”
Still, I loved my wife. I bailed Yala out and, for a while, she stopped screaming at me. Life was calm in the house. But Abuela’s words were still in the back of my head. I started paying attention. I started catching the different aftershaves in my apartment. I switched it up, started working odd hours.
Abuela was right. Night I walked in and saw some fucker climbing out my bedroom window was the day I called it quits.
I took my time, found an apartment and moved out. She filed on me and the war started.
I didn’t want to give up though. Yala had held it down for me so I gave her a choice: agree to anger management and some couples counseling and I’ll come back. Oh, and that throwing shit at me cuz you angry? That’s gotta stop.
She flipped me a finger and told me that if I wasn’t so fucking doggish, she wouldn’t need to throw shit at me. If I kept my dick at home, there wouldn’t be problems.
I realized that no matter what I said, the marriage was over. You fucking other men in my fucking home and you accuse me of being a dog? She didn’t trust me. Never had. Time to quit.
Only thing we agreed on: keeping the boys out of it. I told her I’d bury her ass if she kept the boys away from me. I’d call everybody we both knew to testify about her if she kept the boys away from me.
The threat worked. I got my visitation just like I want it. Now we just haggling over child support and shared property. She wants spousal support. Shit ain’t gonna happen. I’ll support my boys but she gotta deal. She left me. I don’t owe her shit.
—oOo—
I finish my double shift and head home. Nice. The extra money means I can treat the boys to pizza after the game. On Saturday, I’m on the sidelines cheering. Med’s good. I’m looking into futbol camps and clinics for him. He loves the game.
Yala sits down next to me. We’ve been separated three months and this is the third man she’s had. Fuck! She changes men like I change boxers!
“Mack, my uncle is coming this evening and he wants to see the boys.” Yala is staring at her fingernails. “I need to take ’em with me after the game.”
“No.”
She glares at me. “Excuse me?”
“You have all week. Weekends are mine and, short of the Pope himself, there’s nothing major enough going on for me to give up time.”
I stand and cheer. Med nearly made the goal. He’s fighting for the ball now and he’s nearly got it. I watch, excited, as my boy puts it in. I pump my fist and yell his name. Med turns to the stand, grinning. Yeah! Daddy’s here, son! Good job!
I sit back down, still smiling, and turn to Yala. “If this uncle of yours wants to see the boys, have him call me. I don’t mind bringing them to meet him. But the boys arrive with me, they leave with me, and I stay the entire time. You asking a favor of me during my time. We play by my rules.”
Yala curses me out until other parents start glaring at her. I ignore her and Yala stalks off. I watch her. She’s pissed because, once she moves off, other ladies walk over and compliment me for keeping my cool. I get the digits. Yala gets pissed at that.
I get the boys and take them out for pizza. I don’t get a call all weekend. I ask next weekend. Med has no idea what uncle I’m talking about.
—oOo—
Thomas’s POV
“So, I think that if we concentrate on getting more models and athletes, we’ll increase our profit margin with very little effort.”
Tony sits back and smirks.
I hate this bastard. I want to disappear his ass. It’s my fondest wish.
Someday, you bastard, you’re gonna give me a reason. Be grateful you still have Mando’s protection. Otherwise, you’d be in the Everglades now.
I glance over at Mando. Mando’s rubbing his temples again. I look at Diego. Diego looks bored. I turn back to Tony.
“What makes you think we didn’t already consider and reject this idea?”
Everyone in the room hides a grin. Tony stares at me.
“The fact that I don’t see any paperwork showing a cost benefit analysis—”
“Let’s dig into the idea, shall we?” Diego says, sitting up. “First, you’re suggesting protecting athletes. How many athletes are there, right now, in the NFL, NBA, MLS, and MLB without bodyguards?”
Tony’s silent.
“Five percent,” Diego says. “Most of them have an ‘entourage’ and they call their ‘entourage’ their bodyguards. They’re wrong but that’s the truth. Same for rappers. That’s why we don’t bother. Second, there’s always some beef or argument going on that we don’t want to be bothered with. Athletes and rappers, white, black, Hispanic, it doesn’t matter. They have shitty personal lives and we don’t want to get involved.
Third, it means an increase in the number of bodyguards because you’d have to allow each man to become part of the entourage. Similar to embedding. That means he starts to live that lifestyle and, after a while, he’ll realize he doesn’t make that money. That leaves him susceptible to ‘encouragement’ to do illegal shit.”
Diego sits back. “So, he’s a RangeMan, living with an athlete who makes in an hour what he makes in a year. So while it’s his job to protect this athlete from harm, hoes, and harassment, he’s just another servant. Not a true professional. Not a highly skilled, highly trained security professional. He’s a fucking babysitter.”
“Would you like us to continue?” Mando says coldly. Tony’s pale and furious. “My strategist knows how to calculate and assess odds and develop business. I trust him to do that.” Mando glances at me. “I believe that when you took the department from Thomas he explained which groups we don’t bother with. Correct?”
Standoff, but eventually, Tony nods.
“Then review that list, strike those options from your list, and don’t bring it up at another staff meeting before you’ve run it by the branch strategist. If he approves, I’ll hear it. Otherwise, don’t bother all of us with it.”
Mando’s eyes sweep the table. “Anything else?” Silence. “Meeting adjourned.
—oOo—
“Sup?”
“I’ve been named head of bonds enforcement.” Mack sounds like he’s seconds from laughing.
“They put a hood in charge of finding hoods.”
“Homie, I’m lovin’ the irony.”
I laugh and Mack starts laughing. We’re cracking up.
“Man, thank you. I needed that laugh.”
“Word? Wassup?”
“I’m ready to kill this fucker we have.”
Mack sighs. “Tony?”
“Yeah.”
“Homes, I don’t think much of your boss.”
“I don’t think much of yours. Either of them.”
We’re both quiet. Maybe it’s just that street mentality we have, but on the streets it’s about words and actions, especially actions. Mando and Javi? Somewhere, they lost their balls. We talk about this all the time. Mando can’t get rid of Tony and Javi won’t get rid of Shane.
Mack rose up, above a mid-level, not quite a boss. He had a crew, he was makin’ paper, he had loyalty. He was betrayed by a lower-level in a plea deal. That’s how they got Mack but Mack, true to a hustler’s nature, had enough product on him to move but not get federal charges when he got picked up.
Mack later said it was the last time he ignored his instincts. They were telling him to get rid of Petey and he didn’t.
Mack looks at Javi and gets impatient with him. He can’t understand him. Javi doesn’t have a killer instinct in him, a shot caller’s mentality. Mack’s motto? I run this shit, which is why everyone’s makin’ money. Javi is beyond him.
Me? I know INS is still looking for me. Ranger muddied the waters, but the threat will always be there. Piman, Mando and Diego are protecting me too. Reyes and RangeMan loyalty coming through. I just wish I could do something to say thank you. Mando? I tell Mack that Mando before Tony was a different man.
“Ranger’s that boss. He put them in place. Gotta be a reason for that.”
“I know,” Mack says. “Les just left.”
“Javi’s still XO?”
“Yup. Survived again.”
I shake my head.
—oOo—
Present day
Mack’s POV
“Daddy?”
I look over at Med. “Yes?”
“Can you help me with my math?”
I grin. “Sure, son. What’s up?” I move my chair over to sit with him and help him with his homework. We’re in my office at RangeMan and I’m looking at some contracts. I’m ready to do some last minute hustling before Thanksgiving.
Boss Lady is coming soon and Javi’s pretty certain we’re number one this month. I hope so. I been talking major shit to Manny and he promised me an ass whooping. I grinned; me and Javi back in the gym. Manny can try but I think he’ll see that NYC is major in more way than one now.
My XO can knock motherfuckers out with words and fists now. Shit’s beautiful. Now that we know how to spit to him, we see he does have a shot caller’s mentality. I helped him find his language. He helped me adapt my ‘street’ mentality to legal hustles.
My partner is the shit.
I tap Med’s paper and shake my head. He looks at the problem again, erases and tries again. I check Midi’s homework. He’s done. First grade doesn’t really get a lot of homework. I stay on the boys. They know when they get home, or to RangeMan, they hit the books first. I refuse to allow them to slack. They’re gonna get that diploma then go to college. Daddy won’t accept less.
I gotta try to take the GED before the end of the year. They’re changing the test next year to some new shit. I’m tryna make up four years in four months but I’ve been studying hard. Peeps here with the Ivy degrees think I’m ready.
I hope so. I wanna pass the first time. Show them they didn’t waste their time. I listened. I paid attention. I studied hard.
Thomas is giving me the scoop on Miami. I’m ready. I’m working on getting legal custody of the boys and getting a relocation order. Yala don’t wanna sign them papers but, as I pointed out, until she gets out I need rights. If something happens, I don’t wanna have to fight to get them treatment or represent ’em. And if I decide to take my promotion in Miami, I need the relocation order to be able to move the boys out of state with me.
That’s her big threat right now. I fuck up and she won’t sign the paperwork for me to do that. If she won’t sign, I’ll have to take my chances with a judge and the RangeMan lawyers tell me that my chances aren’t great. The courts won’t want to move the boys from their routine in NYC, where I have lots of family and support, to a new routine in Miami, even though I’ll have family and support there, without a significant improvement in their lives. Besides, Yala’s case hasn’t had any movement. If the charges are dropped, I’m back at square one.
Fuck!
Me and Thomas had a long talk about this. I’m not sure I wanna move the boys away from their mamí. She didn’t do it to me. I’m feelin’ it’s not fair. My mamí thinks I’m wrong to even consider it. Abuela thinks I’m foolish, both to listen to my mamí and to turn down my promotion. So does Thomas, although he’s tryna be slick sayin’ it.
He forgets I know him. I know when he’s tryin’ something, like he did yesterday.
“Can’t tell you what to do here, cuz. I can say that opportunities are opening up at RangeMan. OK, maybe you wanna pass on this one, but something’s gonna happen, son. Les made it clear you can’t stay at NYC, right?”
“Yeah. Can’t have two strategists in one branch and Miami needs someone.”
“OK, so you gotta think. Yeah, this is about you, but it’s also about the boys. You lose your family’s help, but you gain me, your family here and the men here. You impressed Steph, son. Men here are already looking forward to you showing up.”
I looked at the phone. “Really?”
“Yeah. You got contracts while you were here. Ren can’t wait to talk to you, run ideas by you. NYC is the shit right now and Diego’s trying to make sure everything here finishes strong.”
That’s how I feel about NYC. From last to first in one damn year. I wanna finish this year strong. I got a promotion, I’m trying to get my boys, and I might have a new office. From hood to ‘holla!’ in just a few years.
I look at my boys.
I wanna show ’em it can be done.
—oOo—
Thomas’s POV
I finish my lunch and put the dishes in the dishwasher. I check the duty sheet. Time to rotate duties again.
Not having a housekeeper here is hell. The men still here are grumbling.
Mando transferred the worst of the bunch out. The ‘not so bad’ ones are left paying for their mistakes.
Diego snorted. “No, we’re all paying for our mistakes. It was every man’s duty to assist Maria. We didn’t. Maria felt unappreciated and she decided to leave. The CO just let her know she had the option and the LC backed it up.”
Everyone got quiet. No one’s dared open their mouths about it since.
We’ve heard the CO intends to transfer here in the New Year. Men here aren’t sure what to think. The CO will help Diggy as his strategist until Mack arrives, if Mack keeps his promotion and moves here. I’m still here.
Whole new ballgame for everyone.
I’m working on Mack, using my words carefully. He still loves Yala (Why!) and, now that she’s locked up, he feels guilty moving the boys away from her when she held it down and took them to see him twice a month when he was locked up. He doesn’t want her to feel tricked because he got custody.
I feel him on that. That’s one of the things I admire most about my cousin. He’s really really fucking loyal. But in this case, loyalty to that crazy bitch might cost him. Not a lot of women I call bitches, but Yala has earned it. Ever since she filed on him, she’s been tryna make his ass miserable. Now she’s got the ultimate threat: that relocation order. She can fuck up his future trying to ‘punish’ him for the past. All over some shit he never did.
Crazy.
I want Mack to leave NYC. Leave the crazy behind. Come to Miami, where he’ll have a fresh start and a clean slate. He earned his promotion doing what was right. He held it down for her when he got out. He hustled, was faithful, and tried to make up for his mistakes. She filed on him and he told her he’d come home if she got some anger management. Nah. Everything had to be what she wanted, so he left. Now she’s in jail crying and telling Mack she loves him and Mack might be tempted to fall for that shit again.
No. I want him well away from her. Don’t listen to that, son! Move away from the Furies cry! No reason the boys can’t write letters, but get out of NYC. Don’t let her hold you back. If she’d truly loved you and had held it down, she’d be packing your shit and calling moving vans. She’s where she is because she earned that shit. Figure out a way to get the boys and move!
My mamí and pops can’t wait to see Ahmed and Hamid. My side of the family is proud of us for coming back strong. We proved it can be done but, like I tell my siblings and all my younger cousins, we got a lucky break. We work for a company that believes in giving ex-cons a chance. Just because lightning struck twice, don’t think you’ll have that luck.
Mack’s taking the GED, trying to enroll in college. I’m looking to get a BA. We’re thirty, trying to make up lost time with jobs and kids to make shit difficult.
Don’t be us. Don’t take the easy way out. Do the right shit now and make that paper later.
For the first time in my life, I respect Javi. Mack tells me stories about Javi, about how he respects and truly appreciates his partner, that has me thinking nicer things about him. The branch has his back now and the things that made Javi a good boss haven’t changed.
Javi just found his balls and put fuckers at his back he can trust. Now he has a branch that’s growing so fast that Mack almost doesn’t want to leave. He wants to learn everything Jorge can teach him. Javi and Hal are neck and neck and we’ll see who’s gonna be number one soon.
Mack told me to bet on the home team. NYC is ready to prove that they’re major.
My phone rings. Mando. I grin and answer. We spend an hour talking shit, shooting the breeze. Mando’s coming back strong too. His mamí’s out his house, his wife is at his back, and he’s reached a state of peace. I’m proud. Mando’s taken care of everyone else for so fucking long he forgot to take care of himself first. Now he and Mari are back in love, RM-Charlotte is growing faster than expected, and Connie Cortes is a miserable old bitch.
Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving woman.
Diego’s a mad man. He can’t wait to take over RMSA. He loved it. Fucker is on a mad tamale hunt across Miami. I laughed and told him he looked like he gained weight. That snapped him out of it. Diego’s vain about his looks. He got back on the treadmill and put the tamales down. I called Ches Deuce, congratulated him on the promotion, and told him to watch Diggy. Keep him away from the tamale shops.
Ches laughed and said he’d only replace that with barbeque. Diggy’s ass will weigh a ton if he’s not careful.
Me? I’m thinking I’ll switch majors. Maybe political science. I remember Mando’s words and I’ve been thinking on it. I started reading The Art of War, because it’s next in the book club, and Mando told me to pick up The Prince and anything by Aristotle. Aristotle is the bedrock of the Catholic Church. I picked those up, read them, and took an intro course on philosophy. Got hype during the readings and discussions, so I think Mando might be right.
Philosophy or political science? Philosophy and political science? I dunno. I just know that next year Imma work on me. I got the hustle. I make the paper. Now I wanna feed my mind.
A/N: I was stuck in my mother’s car over the holidays. She blasted this song everywhere we went. I bought it. Simple and timeless.
We fall down but we get up
We fall down but we get up
We fall down but we get up
For a saint is just a sinner who fell down
(but we couldn’t stay there)
and got up
—Donnie McClurkin
