“Black,” Victor said.
“Huh?”
“You all right?” he asked and his eyes cut to the gun in my hand.
“Yeah, I’m all right. Just nodded off for a minute,” I said and looked at the gun in my hand and then over at him.
I liked Victor, I thought as I put away my gun. He’s a smart guy, pays attention to what I tell him and he learns quickly. There are even times when he reminds me of Freeze. But Victor and Freeze are two completely different people, so I try not to make comparisons, because there will never be another Freeze.
I remember when Freeze really started to work for me. It was after he rounded up all four of the guys who highjacked our load. The Kid, that’s what we used to call him, did it quick, and by himself. He earned everyone’s respect that night, and we all started to take him seriously. Before that, he was little more than an errand boy.
After that night, I started taking him with me when Andre sent me to collect for him. “What do you want me to do, Black?” Freeze asked that first time.
“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?”