Gary Phillips - The Jook

"Goddamn," I got mad again, and looked for something to break. The phone rang again, and I was surprised it was still on the hook.

"Yeah." I was in a mood to tear whoever was on the other end a new one.

"I'm sorry."

It was Wilma. "You sittin' in the front office, why didn't you tell me?"

"Get real, Zelmont. I have my own office, and Stadanko doesn't need to tell me about something like this. His exposure is minimal, since, let's be honest, you don't have the money to fight him. And Cannon can be squeezed to say you were a medical risk. You're in a tough position."

"But you know the way I should turn." I guess I wanted her to make me do it. I guess I wanted her to have me lust after her and the promise of money. In the end, I knew I wanted to do it for myself. I wanted to get back at Stadanko, Chekka, and all of them. Then I'd figure out something special for Weems.

She didn't say anything, but I could almost feel her and smell her through the phone. Well?"

"You going to be home around 4?"

"I suppose." What the hell was I gonna do? I didn't feel like working out, it wouldn't burn off this hurt I had.

"Good." She hung up and I waited. I didn't drink, although I felt like it. Didn't take a toke of nothing either. Instead, I watched some shit on cable, infomercials and such. There was one about a device that let you count cards and coins, and with a simple attachment it became a fan. This English dude with a pink face was very excited about the silly-ass gadget, how wonderful a time saver it would be around the house.

I was imagining other uses of the coin counter when the doorbell rang. It was a motorcycle messenger Wilma had sent. He handed me an envelope and I didn't tip him. Man, I had to watch my ducats. Inside was a note written in Wilma's perfect schoolgirl handwriting. "The Encounter, 8:00, burn this," it said. I did, and got there when she told me to.

The restaurant was inside the building at the airport that looked like it belonged in The Jetsons . There were curves coming out of the round upstairs part, making it look like a concrete spider. I'd heard somewhere that a black architect had designed the place. Wonder what ma and pa flying in from Iowa might think about that if they knew.

"What the hell is this?" Danny Deuce had gotten used to his new style. He was dressed in a Calvin Klein blue serge number with a maroon shirt and a tie that looked like somebody spilled paint on it. You could tell he liked being the boss while his big brother laid low.

''Duck fajitas,'' Nap said. He'd cut off his dreads and looked like he'd lost some weight after his stay at Burroughs' little hideaway. His biceps were loose in the sleeves of his Prada sports coat. He scooped meat and onions and guacamole onto his plate. "It'll expand your palate."

I didn't think Danny knew what the word meant but no sense getting him worked. Not now, at least. "So let's do this thing." I had more of my Maker's Mark.

"Yeah, let's get the money," Danny said like a kid getting to go on the scary rides at Magic Mountain for the first time.

"This is not going to be some gangsta smash and grab," Wilma said. "We know where the money is taken to be housed for transfer," she tipped her head toward me. "But there's much more we have to learn and set in motion before we strike."

"Like what?" Danny said, stuffing fajitas and pieces of tortilla into his mouth. "This shit's a'right."

Wilma's eyes were slitted, hiding the look she must have been giving Danny. "Stadanko is on a precipice. Coming at him is the Justice Department on one side and the Armenians on the other."

"What in the fuck are you talking about?" Danny had more food. Nap wasn't grubbin' like he normally did, just eating a nibble here and there. Outside, a plane zoomed by, making the windows shake.

"Through a college friend who's now in the major crimes section of the DOJ, I've learned that local vice cops placed an illegal tap on the Pink Cavern strip club in Brooklyn two-and-a-half years ago."

Danny kept eating as Wilma talked. I drank and listened. Nap worked on a piece of bell pepper.

"The cops were following a trail of Tijuana-issued heroin. Supposedly, the border cartel boys were looking to expand business to the east. The strip club was owned by a Puerto Rican-American named Octavio Colón who had ties to these guys.

"If it was illegal, then how were they going to use anything they got off the tap?" I asked.

"Cops do it all the time," Wilma answered. "They do the tap, find out something that puts them in a certain direction, and claim later they got the new goods through an informant or a tip from another bust. Anyway, who should be dating one of the strippers but Yagos Ondanian."

"I know him, right?" Danny said.

"He's been to the Locker Room once or twice," Nap told his brother.

"Ondanian is part of an Armenian group muscling in on some of the Russian mob's action along the eastern seaboard. Well, anyway, the tap picks up him and his old lady hinting around about the heroin delivery."

"I'm gettin' lost here." Danny kept chowin' down.

"The point is," Wilma went on, "Ondanian managed to turn one of Chekka's Russian mafia connections. This guy now works for Ondanian."

Danny looked blank and Nap seemed bored. Maybe I was the only one who got it. "That's when the Little Hand must have decided there were virgin pastures in L.A."

"Right. At the same time there was this big push to bring a new franchise to L.A., and Stadanko was in the middle of it. Thus a perfect opportunity for Chekka. A lot of money floats around the league, what with insane TV and cable revenues. How better to hide the origins of your money than through Hollywood-style bookkeeping? They brang in some others, all of them bent to some degree or another. You can't make millions of dollars by always playing fair. And the NFL was anxious to have a team back in the number two media market in the U.S., so it was destined to happen." Wilma had some of her wine. She licked her bottom lip and I forgot for a few moments what we were there for.

"And Ondanian follows Chekka out West?" Nap was finally eating like I was used to seeing him do.

"Yes. There's now supposed to be a detente between the two mobs. But it's Ondanian that Justice has been keeping watch on since that night. The vice cops made sure the info leaked up so they'd have favors with the DOJ down the road."

"But the Justice boys would be happy to nab Stadanko too," I said.

"Yeah," Wilma said. A look I couldn't figure out suddenly came across her face, then left just as fast. "You do pay attention when you want to."

"You think I learned all them complicated plays by just running around?"

"I can see you didn't, baby." The way she said that word got me twitchy in the right places.

"So why in the fuck did you tell us that?" Danny spit out some food.

"Please," his brother said, holding up his cloth napkin.

Danny swatted it away, but the two smiled at each other.

Wilma didn't hide what she was thinking about Danny this time. It was there for all to see. "Because as I learned long ago in law school, we need to know our target before we move. And therefore we need to do our research."

Danny slumped in his seat like the little nitwit he was. "Yeah, whatever."

"Anyway, we have another in on Stadanko." Wilma toasted Nap with her wine glass.

"Huh?" Danny said.

"Pablo's sweet on your brother," I said. "And Pablo is scamming Ysanya."

Nap smiled for the first time. "There you go, brah. And on the QT, that's where your participation in the preparation of this scheme comes in." He wiggled his eyebrows at me like I'd seen Groucho do on AMC. It made me jumpy.

"Look here, Nap, if you think I'm gonna make the fag dreams of your swishy boyfriend come true with a threesome, think again, pardner. A'right?" Another jet took off and Wilma's wine glass shook.