Cameron Haley - Mob rules

"Consider it done, boss. And Domino?"

"Yeah?"

"You lit up Crenshaw like a five-alarm fire with that shit you did on the playground last night, chola."

"Well, tough shit. I did what I thought I needed to do, and I tried to clean up-"

"No, boss, that's not what I mean. The fucking playground was still glowing this morning. Most of the guys have never seen anything like that, and that includes me. No one really knows what you did out there, but everyone knows you're going all-in for Jamal and Jimmy."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"The thing is, and I speak for everyone-if it's gonna be war, I'm glad you're on our side."

After I wrapped up the war preparations with Chavez, I called Sonny Kim and Ilya Zunin to arrange a sit-down. Both were lieutenants in their own outfits, more or less my counterparts. Like Terrence Cole, I guess, but unlike Terrence, I'd actually worked with these guys in the past. Relations between our outfits were about as cordial as they got in the L.A. underworld, and I needed to know if they'd come down on our side in a war with Papa Danwe.

We met in a corner booth at a dive bar in Hollywood. Zunin, the Russian, got there first, a little after noon. He was in much better shape than Anton, and his track suit had about three fewer Xs on the tag.

Zunin slid into the booth and reached across the table to shake my hand. His knuckles, wrists and forearms were decorated with intricate tattoos. There were Orthodox crosses, Russian eagles, Cyrillic characters and a lot of other things I couldn't decipher. More tats curled out of his collar around his neck. The Russian outfits were even more into tattoos than the gangbangers in South Central.

"Domino, is good to see you. You look beautiful, almost as good as Russian girl. I am becoming to be thirsty. We must drink." Zunin may have exercised more than Anton, but his English was a lot worse. He flagged down a waitress and ordered a bottle of vodka. The waitress started to protest that they didn't offer bottle service, but she changed her mind when Zunin peeled a couple hundreds off his roll and stuffed them in her apron.

Sonny Kim walked in as the waitress was leaving. He was small, Asian, wearing cheap slacks, a short-sleeved dress shirt and sneakers. He looked about fifty, but I knew he was older.

"Three glasses," I called to the waitress. Zunin looked over his shoulder and saw Kim, then frowned at me.

"I thought this is private meeting, Domino."

I stood and shook hands with Kim, gesturing for him to sit by Zunin. I wanted to watch both of them while we talked, and didn't want them watching each other.

"You know Sonny Kim, Ilya," I said. The two men looked at each other for a moment and then shook hands.

"I asked you both to meet me here because I wish to discuss matters of interest to all of our organizations."

Kim spoke up. "With respect, Ms. Riley, from what I have heard, the problems you are having are regrettable, but I do not think they concern us."

"Da," Zunin said. "Your dead African is no business of ours." Political correctness hadn't yet reached Russia-at least not the neighborhoods Zunin had come from.

"Two dead," Kim corrected him. "And the one this morning wasn't African, as you so crudely put it."

Zunin scowled at him, but then looked to me for confirmation. I nodded.

"That's right. Two unsanctioned and unprovoked attacks on Shanar Rashan's outfit." I used the boss's full name for effect. Rashan had more juice than the guys they answered to. I belonged to the stronger outfit. I knew it, and they knew it. The waitress returned and set out our drinks, and that gave them both time to think about it.

"These offenses will not stand, of course," I continued once the waitress had gone. "There will be a response. In uncertain times like these, Mr. Rashan needs to know who his friends are."

"Do you know who is the hitter, Domino?" Zunin asked. He was eyeing the vodka bottle, but I was the host and he'd wait for me to pour. He ordered, he paid, but I had to pour the booze in his glass. I decided I'd make him wait for it.

"We know the outfit that's responsible. At this stage, I'd like to know if either of you have heard anything that might be of assistance to us."

"You think we have something to do with it?" If Zunin was offended, he wasn't showing it. His pale eyes were steady and utterly devoid of emotion.

"Not at all, Ilya. Mr. Rashan has long valued the friendship of your organization."

"We have learned of the murders, of course," said Kim, "and something of their nature. There are many secrets in the underworld, Ms. Riley, but sometimes fewer than we might wish."

Your spies are everywhere, in other words. I didn't hold it against him. If he didn't know what had happened, I'd have lost some respect for him. He'd scored a couple points on Zunin when he revealed that he already knew about the second hit.

"So you've learned nothing else about these events, Sonny?"

"Sadly, that is correct. To be completely frank, Ms. Riley, we were not just surprised, we were shocked."

"No one is wanting war, Domino," said Zunin. "And what else could this mean? Is very bad."

"Mr. Rashan doesn't want a war, Ilya. But if it comes to that, what is your organization's position?"

Zunin remained silent, staring at me with those cold blue eyes. I knew he was thinking it through, playing through scenarios in his mind. In the underworld, there are no real friendships between the outfits. But that doesn't mean there aren't mutually beneficial alliances, however temporary.

Kim cleared his throat. "Speaking for my organization, we consider Mr. Rashan our honored friend. We will treat any attack on your outfit as an attack on our own, and we are confident Mr. Rashan will prevail if conflict cannot be averted."

That was probably the opposite of the calculation Kim was really making. If there was a war, he believed Rashan was likely to win, and that's why his outfit would back us. It was good enough for me.

"We are friends with Rashan longer than the Koreans," Zunin said, sparing a cold glance at Kim. "We stand with you, Domino."

"Mr. Rashan will be very pleased to learn of your support and friendship," I said, speaking to both of them. "It is greatly prized and will be richly rewarded."

I poured the shots and we raised our glasses.

"To friendship," I toasted.

"To victory," Zunin said.

"For honor," added Kim.

We all put some juice in it, and just like that, an alliance was forged. Five A lot of Angelinos think of South Central as a war zone. Maybe not Baghdad circa 2006, but the kind of place where drive-bys are routine and white folks regularly get dragged out of their cars and curb stomped.

The truth is, South Central is a lot of different towns and neighborhoods, and most of them aren't any worse from day to day than the sprawling trailer parks in the Valley and a whole lot less sleazy than most of Hollywood. Still, much of the God-fearing, law-abiding, and more sheltered citizenry thinks of South Central as a powder keg, even if they never speak of it in polite company. They think of it that way because the fuse has been lit before, in 1965 and again in 1992. A lot of people figure when the Big One finally comes, it won't be a quake-it'll be a meltdown in the hoods and barrios.

I got the same vibe as I drove through the streets of Inglewood that afternoon. It was riot weather in South Central L.A.

People were out on the streets, and not just lounging on porches or lawns, or hanging on the street corners. They were moving in packs with nowhere to go and nothing to do but evil. Most were young males, but not all, and the gang colors, wife-beaters and chinos were joined by nursing whites and work coveralls. They were angry crowds, just a bad wind away from becoming mobs.