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“Ready?” Bobby asked.
“Let’s do it.”
While I covered his back, Bobby aimed his weapon at the door and then he knocked on it. There was no answer.
Again.
We walked away from Lisa’s door, but neither of us put our guns away. Once we got to the door, both of us stopped and looked at the other.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Bobby asked.
“If you’re thinking that mutha fuckas might be waiting for us to come out, yeah, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“You could step out and see if you get shot.”
“Or, you could.”
“True, true, but I gotta admit, I am a little reluctant, you know, after the last time.”
“I got an idea,” I said and took the silencer off my gun.
“What you gonna do?”
“Hopefully,” I said and stepped to the door. “Find out if anybody is out there waiting for us.”
I cracked the door, stuck the gun out and fired a few shots. When nobody fired back, I assumed that it was safe for us to leave the building.
“You used to fuck this hoe, where does she hang out?”
Bobby looked at me crazy. “I wasn’t hanging out with her, I was fucking her. She brought that pussy to me, we ain’t ever go anywhere.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“The Late Night.”
“So, where you wanna go now?”
“Let’s check out Tamiko’s. I remember her saying that
her cousin or somebody worked there,” Bobby said, and he drove in that direction.
Tamiko’s was a hole in the wall bar off the avenue that was frequented by low rent, neighborhood drug dealers, chilly pimps and their hoes, so it was as good a place as any to start. Like most places around the way, the atmosphere in the joint changed when me and Bobby walked in. That works to our advantage in a number of ways, but that night it meant that it was easy to find somebody that told us that Marquez Hernandez liked to hang out at a place called Sympatico’s, a Cuban-American restaurant with a salsa dance club.
When we got to Sympatico’s, one of the first people I saw standing at the bar was Gomez Estaban. Him and Andre had an understanding that neither would do business in the other’s territory. An understanding that me and Bobby have had to enforce a number of times over the years, so he respected us, and we respected him.
“Black, Bobby!” Gomez shouted when he saw us. “Drink with me!” And he loved to drink with us.
“With pleasure!” Bobby shouted back.
“How are you, Gomez?” I asked.
“Very good, Black.” He put his arm around me and then Gomez pulled me close enough to smell the tequila on his breath. “Wondering if you are here on business?”
“Business, my friend. Always business. But not with you.”
