The cost of vengeance - [7]

“Nothing, understand; you keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, and you don’t do shit unless I tell you. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Now let’s go,” I said and started to walk off. Then I stopped. “You armed?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see.”

Freeze lifted up his shirt and showed me a.38 snub nose tucked in his waist.

“Guess we need to get you a gun,” I said and took him to Cynt’s office. Once she opened the safe, I looked at Freeze. “Pick one.”

Freeze stepped up and looked in the safe. Cynt kept a small arsenal in the safe in her office those days. Now, all of the spots we run have two: One in the office and the other, behind the bar. It has come in handy on more than one occasion.

Cynt leaned close to me. “Bet he chooses the.44 Magnum,” she whispered. But the Kid surprised us both when he came out with a Sig Sauer SP2022 9mm pistol with a 15- shot magazine. “I’m impressed,” Cynt whispered.

When we left Cynt’s, me and Freeze caught the train to 59^th Street, and then caught the D train to Tremont Avenue. From there we walked up Tremont to a building on Martin Luther King Boulevard. We were going to see a dealer named Mark Mitchell, who liked to get high on his own supply. When we got to the door, I started to go over the rules again, but Freeze hadn’t said a word since we’d left Cynt’s, so I didn’t think he would start now.

I banged on the door and waited. It wasn’t long before I heard, “Who is it?”

“It’s Black. Open the fuckin’ door before I start shooting through it.” I actually heard him say, “Shit,” before he opened the door.

“What’s up, Black?”

As soon as I was inside, I punched him in the face and he went down from the blow. I kicked him in the face while he was laying there. “That’s for making me come down here,” I said and kicked him again. “Help him up, Freeze.”

Freeze stepped up and helped Mark to his feet. I punched him in the stomach and when he doubled over; I went to the face with a knee lift. He went down again. Then I went into the living room and sat down. Freeze came and stood near where I was sitting, and we waited for Mark to get up and join us. I was glad that I didn’t have to tell Freeze not to help him up.

When Mark did finally join us, he ran down some long, drawn out story about why he didn’t have the money. But as usual, he promised that he would have it if I’d just give him some more time. I got up and smashed his face into the wall a couple of times before I left that day, and ended up killing Mark when I found him the next week.

As time went on, Freeze learned the craft. It got to the point that we worked together that we didn’t need words. Freeze knew exactly how and when I wanted him to deliver pain. And Freeze was brutal. I think its the thing that separates Victor most from Freeze. Victor is smart, efficient; he does what needs to be done to get results. Freeze enjoyed hurting a mutha fucka.

I remember a guy named Irving Anderson; a stock broker whose only vice was that he liked to bet baseball. After a run of bad luck, he owed me fifteen thousand dollars. We found him one night at a bar on Seventh Avenue. Me and Freeze got to the door, but instead of going inside, I went and leaned against a car. “Go on in and bring him out,” I said.

Freeze smile. “You ain’t goin’ in, Black?”

“I’ll be right here.”

Freeze went in, and five minutes later, the doors swung open and Irving Anderson landed at my feet. I looked at Freeze as he came out. “Mr. Anderson I presume?”

“That’s him,” Freeze said.

“He’s all yours.”

Freeze smiled again, but went straight to work on Mr. Anderson. I watched him while he worked. And I looked in his eyes and could tell that he was lovin’ every second of it. Hittin’ him with fists, forearms and elbows; kickin’ him, rammin’ his head into cars.

“Is there a problem out here?” some big mutha fucka that I assumed was the bouncer asked as a crowd formed to watch.

I showed him my gun. “Does it look like I’m havin’ a problem?”

“No problem,” he said wisely.

Freeze picked Mr. Anderson up from the ground and slammed his body against the car I was leaning on. Freeze reached in Mr. Anderson’s pocket and took out his keys. He threw them to me. I hit the alarm and the lights flashed in a sweet Lamborghini that was parked down the street. And it was black. “You’ll get this back when I get my fuckin’ money,” Freeze said and hit Mr. Anderson again. We left him laying on the car, and drove away in his car. Two days later, he called with my money. There will never be another Freeze.

I looked at Victor and asked him what time it was. “Eleven thirty.”

We were in Miami, parked in the airport parking lot, waiting for Bobby’s flight to arrive. The flight was delayed due to bad weather in the area, but things had cleared up and I hoped that meant Bobby would call soon.

We were in Miami to meet with Hector Villanueva. I had killed his nephew, Cruz, because of his involvement in a plot to kill me. Not wantin’ any bad blood between me and Hector, I setup a meeting.

Earlier that day, I went to a restaurant called Delicias de Espana. Hector has lunch there every day. They serve traditional Spanish Cuisine, and boast about their fresh fish and seafood that they receive directly from Spain twice a week. “The taste of the Cantabric Sea in Miami.”