The Warren Gardens on Walnut Avenue in Roxbury had less to do with gardens and more to do with slums, drug runners, denizens of micro gangs, the elderly, wayward youths struggling not to be beaten up and made gang-bait—almost exclusively black, alienated from anything remotely resembling the American main chance and taking as much diminishing public assistance as was available. This was where Null wanted his meeting, directly in the heart of Gangsta Boyz territory. The carbolic-scrubbed scent mixed with that of urine, marijuana and miscellaneous greasy food might have caused a person unused to Roxbury projects to reflexively gag, making the arduous climb up five flights as the elevator was marked unusable by bright yellow crime scene tape. Null was, as admitted by all, far from normal.
The late Edgar’s brother, Dominic, a few inches over six feet, stood watch at the door to Desi’s apartment. He stepped forward and put himself in front of Null before he could reach the door, blocking him.
“Do I have to pay a toll?” asked Null ingenuously.
“You in the wrong neighborhood, homes. Get your skinny ass outta here.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. I called this meeting.”
“You—a skinny little white dude, are the motherfucker killed Edgar? You? That’s a joke.”
“It’s not a joke. I don’t even think I could joke if I tried, yet I know some things must be still be funny even if I can’t laugh.”
“Get the fuck outta here.”
“I can’t. This is my party. I’m the one throwing it. You don’t want to deprive the boys of my presence, do you?”
“Who the fuck you callin’ boys, motherfucker?”
“Gangsta Boyz. They all should be in there. If anyone’s late, there’ll be trouble. And I don’t want to be late myself.”
“What if I just tossed your boney freak ass down those flights of stairs, seven-thirty motherfucker?”
Null pulled the Heckler fast as an impromptu summer breeze.
“Better take your shot while you can.”
Dominic moved away from the door, hands up. He had no weapon, just size, which wasn’t much against a hastily pulled Heckler and Koch VP9SK nine-millimeter with its OEM suppressor. Null looked to be all business with it and had the business end of the Heckler aimed squarely at Dominic’s face.
“Shall we dance?” Null asked, without the faintest hint of irony or sarcasm.
“No, homes. We cool. You can go in.”
Null didn’t waver with the Heckler.
“Dominic, I regret what happened at the clubhouse.”
“Grandma’s house? Who the fuck are you?”
Null took a breath, narrowed his eyes.
“You know who I am.”
“You that netted-up motherfucker? So what—you gonna smoke my ass or what?”
“No, I’m going to give you some money, Dominic. Condolence money. My fixer, Do-rag, is handling that.”
“You think you can run GBs, seven-thirty bitch?”
“I’m running them as it stands. Now step aside and continue doing such a bang-up job as gate security. But don’t stray too far. I think I have a job for you.”
“It don’t involve killin’ do it?”
“What do you think?”
“I get to do the motherfucker who did Edgar?”
“A distinct possibility.”
“Shit, homes, yeah, I’m in the car, you want me in it.”
Null was still holding up the Heckler when he walked through the door which led right into a good-sized living room with clear plastic-covered furniture that was also covered with all manner of Gangsta Boyz, lounging around, goofing on each other, drinking beers from a case of Stella Artois whose remnants were on an otherwise spanking clean olive shag rug. When Null entered with his Heckler drawn, the ones who sat and lounged didn’t stand, but they all jerked to attention. Do-rag looked especially nervous.
“So is this grandma’s house actually a real grandma’s house?” asked Null without irony.
Desi, a weedy, rail thin youth of about nineteen in a white tee shirt and black vest with the requisite baggy prison jeans, stood shakily and approached Null. “This my moms’s place,” he said. “She gone visitin’ somewhere, left me in charge.”
“Good, Desi, you be in charge of that then. I’m sure we’ll all try not to make a mess.”
“Everybody respectful up in this bitch. No cigarette burns, stains on the rug or rings on the end tables. Real talk.”
“Excellent.”
“Cut this motherfucking shit homes, why you call us all in here for—etiquette lessons?”
“You all know why we’re here.”
“No shit.”
“You do?”
“You don’t even know who in your own crew, you chatted-out motherfucker.”
“I have a lot on my plate.”
“I’m Ronald, and I think your time running GB’s be about up.”
“I’m holding a gun on you, Ronald, you realize.”
“Yeah, so the fuck what? You won’t use it in here.”
“You’re testing me, Ronald. I know who you are—valuable guy, about twenty-seven, no substance abuse problems, juvie record only, doing a good job running the sling up there in Methuen.”
“They should call that bitch Meth-town by now.”
“You’re slinging out all over the Merrimac Valley, staying away from the kiddies. And away from the all-too-white Andover.”
“Don’t want to stand out too bad.”
“And yet. I notice you now.”
“Yeah, and what thanks do I get?”
“Money, Ronald. You get money.”
“I don’t run no skim.”
“Why you’re still alive.”
“It’s not fucking enough. We’d make a killing hitting the high schools.”
“I said colleges only, Ronald.”
“Who cares what you say, motherfucker? Why should a cracker like you run things? You got Edgar and Howard roasted ‘n’ toasted.”
“You’re right. I’m responsible. Even though I warned you all to stay away from the club on Tremont, they defied me. Now they’re scrap. Do you want to defy me too, Ronald?”
“I ain’t got no gat, homes.”
In a sudden motion like an owl jumping a rat, Null tossed him the Heckler. Ronald made a smooth catch.
Jo-jo, a slight, pear-shaped bespectacled boy who had driven the stolen bus down to Dapper O’Neil’s with the rescued children, stood up, waving his hands. “Don’t be stupid. I’ve seen him before. He settin’ you up right to die, J-Cat! He fifty-one-fifty! Fuck!”
“Fuck him,” said Ronald, pointing the Heckler at Null like he knew how to use it.
“Don’t mess up my moms’s carpet wit’ blood, yo!” Desi cried.
In an instant, Null shucked off his shabby drab, black coat, pulled up the Bushmaster 90291 and put a line of rounds into the drop ceiling. The loud sound caused Ronald to bring his arms up to protect himself, still managing to hold tightly onto the Heckler. The rest of the Gangsta Boyz refused to move a muscle.
Null was coolly holding the Bushmaster 90291 chest level with Ronald.
“Going to take your shot now, or step down?” He sounded like a voicemail time-date stamp.
Ronald aimed the Heckler back at Null’s bony torso, albeit shakily. Unable to stop shaking, he dropped the Heckler to the rug, yanking his hand away as if the steel were red hot against his skin.
“See,” said Null flatly. “Now we’re all friends again.”
“Y-you want a beer, boss?” asked Do-rag. “We got a case of Stella Artois.”
“No, thank you,” Null said, shouldering the Bushmaster 90291 and picking his coat up from off the rug. Do-rag handed him back the Heckler, which quickly went into the coat pocket.
“You sure you don’t want no beer?”
“Yes, but I think I’ll do a couple of lines of our Methuen meth right here and now. How are the boys handling manufacture, Ronald?”
“Riley is all over that. He and that Northeastern kid Ricky are cookin’ on the line. Hardly stop. Lucky they don’t splode for sure.”
“That may explain their absence.”
“They too busy, man—they playin’ on ass. Could be rough.”
“But you’ll see to that for me, Ronald? Won’t you?” Null was wide-eyed and as ingenuous as an empty plate.
“I-I guess I will.” Ronald knew Null was giving him his dignity back, and he was quick to take it and let Null be what he obviously was: the shot caller.
Null laid out a pile of greenish white methamphetamine on the glass coffee tabletop, chopped it and lined it up with a credit card from his wallet. He rolled up a dollar bill and snorted the gak quickly and efficiently as everyone in the room watched quietly, not daring to say a word.
“Cops go’n’ come!” whined Do-rag.
Null finished his last snort with a long inhalation.
“They won’t come. This is Roxbury. You really think anyone’ll call the cops? Nobody remembers “Bloody April?” I don’t think anybody here is particularly worried about that.”
“What ‘bout they do come?”
“Well, then, we’d better talk business right now.”
“That gonna be ‘bout Edgar ‘n Howard?”
“Yeah,” said Null, adjusting the machete on a lanyard and the Bushmaster 90291 beneath his coat and the Heckler in the pocket. “You remember what we did in Allston?”
“Fuck, yeah. I drove the motherfuckin’ bus, if y’alls remember,” said Jo-jo.
“How could I forget?” Null assented.
“Lotta blood, but a lotta good wallpaper, too,” added Jo-jo.
“You could decorate your bedroom.”
“Lotta joog, no doubt,” said Alec with the shaved head, lounging unmoved all this time on the couch. “No doubt.”
“If we think the cops are on the way, we can finish up quick.”
“Go dawg,” said Alec. The entire room muttered and grunted approval.
“All of you that don’t have special tasks to do like Ronald have been very busy slingin’ gak pretty good in Merrimack, Lynn, Lowell, greater Boston, avoiding Southie, Allston, getting Roxbury, Dorchester all the way up to Brockton. No busts, no high school trade that I know about, no problems. Why do you think that is? You know why, Ronald?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why is that, Ronald?” Null was frigid, far to an extreme below cold.
“Nobody wants to fuck with us, I guess. You kill anyone—everyone.”
“That’s right. In a heartbeat. In a New York minute. You should know that’s how we’ll handle Edgar and Howard. But we’re not going for an eye-for-an-eye. I don’t much care for the Bible. We’re going for the same effect we had in Allston. Nothing left standing.”
“Not for fuckin’ free, homes, that’s real talk!” Ronald barked.
“Did you do it for free last time? When you work for me, do you do any of it free? Do any of you feel right now you might like to try and negotiate a raise with me?”
Dead silence.
“I thought not. Still, money’s coming in pretty flash, all due to you gentlemen. GBs as a business has plentiful cash reserves. I’m going to spend some of them. On you. My question of the moment is this: are you down for business?”
Shouts of assent went around the room.
“The business is killing. Literally. You good with that? Because you have to be. You want out now, say so.”
“Every man here knows y’all can’t avoid dat shit. Real talk, homes,” offered Jo-jo. “You want the weed, do dat deed, yeah!”
“Do-rag, bring Dominic in here. He should be standing directly in front of you all. Edgar was his brother.”
Do-rag was out the door before Null had finished the sentence. He reentered with Dominic striding in just ahead of him. He towered over Null, though his posture was slumped, head slightly bowed.
“Wassup, cuz?”
“You’re not really in the GBs, are you, Dominic?”
“I catch a ride sometimes.”
“You want in the car?”
“For what homes?”
“For blood. Do-rag is going to pay your family with cash. A death benefit. Isn’t that right?”
“Money come tomorrow, boss. True dat.”
“My moms ‘n’ sisters sure could use it.”
“That leaves blood. You want blood, Dominic?”
“I’m a vampire, homes.”
“They call me zombie fuck Null out on the street, you know that?”
“I heard that. Wouldn’t never tell you that.”
“No one would. You know where that leaves us?”
“You tell me, homes.”
“Only one way for us, Dominic.”
“What way?”
“New hope for the dead.”
Then Null was gone from the Warren Gardens apartment like a whisper of confession that came just before the sirens of the Boston Police grew loud enough to swallow up the room.