The spot is swarming. Two busy dealers buzz about, working the stream of cars that flows slowly down the block. They use hand signals, whistle in code, retrieve inventory from the wheel well of a parked car.
Wonder if I made a mistake coming here. Long-haired in camouflage and combat boots. You might say I’m out of place in Sundown Park. To them I’m a devil worshipper, a transvestite. Or worst of all – a cop.
I can turn back, forget the whole thing. But I’ve trooped too far to return empty handed. Besides, I told Frankie I’d take care of this….
Green light.
Four felons surround a red IROC-Z parked at the curb. Skinny and shirtless in two-tone Lees, the loudest of the crew squats to appraise the rims. His boy lights a Newport, licks his thumb and wipes a smudge from his otherwise gleaming shell-tops. Two others, both in green windbreakers and oversized Gazelles, pass a quart between them, quietly assessing the vehicle.
I press the folded five-spot in my palm.
On the nearby stoop a party is in progress. Chico Stix, Coco Rico, a 100-watt battleship blasting beats. A chubby cretin in black mesh tank top springs down the steps of the old brownstone and halts before the car, stroking his mustache.
Begin the long walk up 39th Street.
Dusk falls like an itchy blanket. I sidestep a gutted garbage bag, dance over some chicken bones and approach the crew.
The shirtless one struts toward me.
“What you need?”
“Got mesc?”
“Strictly crack.”
A cicada rattles. I stand dumbly, my plans dashed.
“Wait up,” he says, calling out to the stoop crowd. I envision myself beaten down and robbed, run out of the neighborhood.
As I’m preparing for flight a hulking, jiggling mass of a woman descends the steps of the brownstone. There’s an infant in her arms.
“Red Star,” she coos, still in baby-talk mode. “Two for five.”
Our exchange is swift. I pass her the folded five-spot, and from within the child’s swaddling her dimpled hand magically appears, two tiny red cylinders in the open palm. I store the hits in the cellophane of my Marlboro box.
Then I hear the screeching brakes.
An unmarked Crown Vic and two squad cars.
