It's Like Candy (33 page)

 

Eric went to meet Snowman,
his drug connection, at his Long Island establishment. It was a local bar in Hempstead that was frequented by thugs and gangsters. Eric only came once a month to link up with Snowman for his drugs, but besides that, it wasn't worth coming to the place for any reason. He always got bad vibes when he showed up.

Eric walked around to the back of the establishment near an alley and was greeted by Sneak, a soldier blocking the entrance to the back door.

“Yo, I'm here to see Snowman,” Eric told him.

Sneak, who was tall and stocky, sported a tight wifebeater and a visible .45 tucked in his waistband. He glared at Eric for a moment and then got on the horn and called the visit in downstairs.

“Let him in,” a voice came through from the horn.

“Ayyite,” Sneak replied. He then looked at Eric and said, “Niggah, you know the routine, throw them arms up.”

“Yo, Sneak, why we always gotta go through this?” Eric said.

“Because, niggah, I don't trust y'all Jamaica, Queens, niggahs,” Sneak quickly replied.

Eric sighed and spread his arms to get searched. “I ain't never packin' when I come here. You know that, niggah.”

“So what. Better safe than sorry,” Sneak said as he patted Eric down, checking for weapons.

When he was satisfied, Sneak let Eric past. Eric gave Sneak an unpleasant glance and walked in.

“Fuck you too, niggah!” Sneak mumbled under his breath.

Eric slowly walked down the dimly lit stairs into the basement. They creaked with every step he took. He was always uneasy when he came to see Snowman. He was aware of his notorious reputation and knew one false move with the Snowman and they'd find pieces of him in ten different zip codes. He and his family had been in business with Snowman for years, and it had been good so far.

Snowman was a stocky black male who sported a thick grizzled beard, bald head, and had very menacing features. He was like Suge Knight, always had a lit cigar in his hand. He mostly sported expensive suits, or sweatsuits, he was rarely seen in jeans or T-shirts. He was in his early fifties and had been in the game for a long time—so long, that he was a major drug distributor in the northeastern seaboard. Eighty-five percent of the drugs on the streets probably came through from the Snowman.

Eric walked into his basement office after passing about seven armed guards and some loose women who were playing a game of pool and flirting with the men.

“Mr. Beaumont,” Snowman called out, seeing Eric walking into his office. “Keeping the family business going as usual.”

Eric nodded.

Snowman was clad in a three-piece gray pinstripe suit, had a cigar clutched in his hand, a gray derby on his head, and sported $15,000 worth of diamonds and jewelry on his wrists, fingers, ears, and even in his mouth. He had a brown-skinned bitch in a tight miniskirt seated on a corner couch, playing around with her nails.

“How you doin', Snowman?” Eric greeted.

“Every day I'm alive and out of jail is a good day for me, baby,” Snowman replied. “What brings you back around here? A re-up, I assume.”

Eric nodded.

“You bring me good business, Eric. I always liked you and your family. You come from good peoples. You lucky I knew your father, that muthafucka was a born gangsta. You definitely come from good genes. And your cousin, I'm hearing about him on the streets already. That boy ain't been out less than two months now and he's already making a name for himself again. Now I see more of your father in him than I do in you. You sure y'all wasn't switched at birth?” Snowman joked.

Eric let out a slight chuckle.

Snowman's presence was solid and very intimidating. The way he would look at people made them feel that they had screwed up sometimes, even though they could be as innocent as a mouse.

“What you need from me this time, Eric? The same as usual?”

“Nah, I got kind of a larger order this time,” Eric proclaimed. He walked up to Snowman, pulled out an envelope filled with cash, and tossed it on his desk. “That's the ten grand I owe you from before. It's all there.”

Snowman picked up the cash and went through it real quick. He then nodded at Eric.

“How large?” he asked.

“Ten pounds of that Purple Haze, and four keys,” Eric said.

“That's not your speed, Eric. Why the change?” Snowman asked.

“Clientele,” Eric explained.

Snowman stared at Eric for a moment, feeling him out. Snowman was contemplating making the sale.

“C'mere,” Snowman called out, indicating for Eric to come closer with his two fingers.

Eric moved in closer toward his desk, and Snowman leaned in more toward Eric with the palm of his hands rooted flatly against his desk.

Snowman looked at Eric and then asked, “This clientele, it's the same, or did you suddenly switch up on me?”

“The same guy I've been dealin' wit' for the past year,” Eric admitted.

“And all of a sudden, this man stepped up his game for more products. You ever asked yourself why?” Snowman said.

“Honestly, no,” Eric admitted.

“You trust this deal?”

Eric hesitated before answering. “Yeah.”

Snowman got quiet, thinking about something. He then peered at Eric, and advised, “When a man switch up on you so sudden, you gotta ask yourself why. What's his motive . . . his routine? Has he been gone for a long time or not? Ask yourself these questions. I don't trust that shit, Eric. You be careful. I've been a free man for a long time, and I plan to die a free man.”

“I understand,” Eric said.

Suddenly Snowman's expression changed dramatically. He glared at Eric, and warned, “If you do this deal, and if it don't come out right, you keep my fuckin' name out your mouth. You fuckin' hear me?”

Eric nodded.

“I'm gonna give you what you need, only because I know your family and who your father was. But niggah, if you fuckin' cross me, I swear to my kids, the only things that will find your body is the rats and maggots as they nibble away at you one day at a time.”

“I understand, Snowman,” Eric returned.

Snowman then looked at his young lady friend on the couch, and instructed her, “Peaches, bring Moe into my office.”

Peaches nodded, got off the couch, and walked out of the office, pulling down her skirt as she exited.

Snowman took a seat in his expensive leather chair and peered up
at Eric. “Our deal is the same as before—points and everything. You and your cousin are the only men I give product to on consignment, because y'all always come correct with my money.”

A short moment later, Peaches entered the room with Moe right behind her. Moe was tall and stocky like Sneak, with long dreads reaching down to his back.

“Moe, you know what's up. Supply our friend here with ten pounds of PH and four keys,” Snowman instructed.

Moe nodded and walked out of the office.

“Eric, you know the routine,” Snowman said. “You'll pick your stuff up in a half.”

Eric nodded.

“I hope you know what you're doing, I always liked you more than your cousin. You're smart. Your cousin brings too much attention to himself,” Snowman said before Eric left the office.

Eric quickly left the building and got into his Scion and drove about ten miles. He parked at the assigned destination where he always picked up his product.

He waited for about fifteen minutes near an empty park, until he noticed headlights approaching behind him. Snowman never supplied any drugs in his building, or did any transactions. Customers had to link up somewhere far away and that's where the transaction took place.

Two men were in the car, but only one got out. Eric stayed seated and watched from his rearview mirror. The passenger of the car walked around to the trunk of their car and removed a small duffle bag. Eric unlatched the back of his Scion as the man approached his ride. The man dropped the bag in the back, tapped on the window, indicating delivery of the product, walked back to his car, and then they drove off.

Eric drove away right after, satisfied with the transaction.

Two black Denalis drove slowly down the block
and stopped where Critter was parked watching the home for the longest time.

The driver's-side window rolled down and Yung Slim leaned over the driver, and asked, “They still parked?”

“Yeah, I think there's two in the car. A stout light-skinned niggah,” Critter told him.

Yung Slim nodded.

“You think they police?” Critter asked.

“Listen, this is what I want y'all to do. Tell Tango and Rob to roll around the block, and tell them to stay parked at the end of the block. And on my orders, open fire on them muthafuckas. But only on my orders,” Yung Slim instructed.

“Ayyite,” the driver said.

Yung Slim, Critter, and an unknown soldier approached the house.

 

Big Red and Twinkie
gazed at the two black trucks that drove down the block and wondered what was up. Too much activity was going on around the house they were watching and targeting.

Twinkie looked at Red, and asked, “You want me to call it in?”

“Nah, not yet. We might have something here,” Big Red said. Twinkie shrugged and continued to watch three men walk to the house.

 

Pumpkin heard a loud knock
at his door and wondered who it could be. River was in the living room, and her heart jumped, thinking something was about to go wrong.

Pumpkin glanced outside through the blinds and was shocked when he saw his nephew Russell and Critter standing outside his door.

He turned to River, and said, “Go hide upstairs. I'll take care of this.”

He watched River dash upstairs and then slowly opened his front door to his nephew. Russell flashed a quick smile at his uncle, and said, “It's been a long time, Uncle Pumpkin.”

His uncle stared at him.

“I don't get a hug or sumthin?” Russell exclaimed.

Pumpkin let out a faint smile and gave his nephew a hug, and reluctantly invited him and his friends in.

“Nice place, Uncle Pumpkin. A bit cluttered, but you always made do, ain't that right?” Russell said.

“What finally brings you around to see me?” Pumpkin asked.

“I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by. You don't miss me?”

“You've been out for almost two months now, Russell. So what you been up too?” Pumpkin asked, walking near the kitchen.

“Don't act like you don't know what I'm about, Unc . . . what our family always been about. Money,” Russell proclaimed, as he followed his uncle to the kitchen.

Critter and the other man took a seat near the door, listening to the two talk.

“And Critter, you come into my home and don't have the manners to say hi. Shit, I remember when my wife used to change your diapers every morning,” Pumpkin said.

“How you doin', Mr. Pumpkin?” Critter greeted him.

Pumpkin let out a slight cough as he messed around in the kitchen.

“You're gettin' sick and old on me, Uncle Pumpkin?” Russell asked.

“I'm gettin' better every day,” he countered.

Russell smiled.

Pumpkin stared at his nephew clad in diamond jewelry, Timber-lands, baggy jeans, and a throwback jersey. “You look good, Russell.”

“Like you, every day I'm gettin' better.”

“Better comes with becoming wiser,” Pumpkin said.

“Learning more about black folks every day.”

“So honestly, what brings you around here to come see an old man all of a sudden?” Pumpkin asked.

“You're family, Uncle Pumpkin, right?” Russell said.

“Yeah.”

“And family doesn't keep secrets from one another. Family supposed to be tight, and always have each other backs. Why you never came to see me while I was locked down?”

“I've seen enough prison in my times, Russell. And coming to visit you would be no different,” Pumpkin replied.

“No letters, nothing. . . . You and the rest of the family left me in there to rot, thinking I would never come home again,” Russell said.

“If you came for an apology, then you won't get it from me,” Pumpkin told his nephew.

“I'm not lookin' for an apology. I'm lookin' for the truth,” Russell returned.

“Truth?” Pumpkin laughed.

“You ashamed of me, Uncle Pumpkin?”

“You should be asking yourself that question when you look in a mirror every day. You got the game twisted, Russell. Look at you—” Pumpkin started.

“Yeah, look at me, Uncle Pumpkin!” Russell shouted. “I'm continuing on with our generation, something that you and your brothers helped build. Now I'm the new! The strong! I'm the man in the streets, and I'm gettin' what's owed to me, even if it means spilling blood.”

“You're a fool, that's what you are, Russell. This ain't about power. You wouldn't know the first thing about power. My brothers and I, we had power in the streets. We knew how to control things, and we were well respected. We took care of our own, and they took care of us,” Pumpkin proclaimed.

“You're a washed-up old fool who got scared of the game and became a fuckin' truck driver,” Russell countered. “You weren't nuthin' like your brothers. They went out shooting, they went out wit' dignity. You, what you have to show . . . Nuthin'.”

“I'm alive and I'm free. I'm the richest out of all of them,” Pumpkin said.

Russell snickered. “Free! You call this free? Your wrinkled old ass ain't free. You stay dusting away in this junk of a place you call home every day, this ain't free. This is living scared. You're running away from what you used to be. You can't hang like Uncle Omar and Uncle Mike. You're the biggest pussy out of all your brothers.”