Chapter Fifteen
Tango
Tango took a few pulls from the cigarette between his lips and exhaled. It was a quiet and cool night as he heard his friend Mike say, “You know she used to be Rico’s girl.”
Tango didn’t know Rico, but he heard niggas inside speak his name. Rico was supposed to be the new heavyweight on the street before his untimely incarceration on numerous RICO charges.
“Rico?”
“He used to hustle for Red back in the days, came up under the Bronx Nation Crew,” Mike explained.
Tango didn’t care for the man or his reputation. He had his own hardcore reputation, one probably fiercer than Rico’s. His only concern was his future with Mouse. He thought about her a lot and wanted to be with her in so many ways. It was bad that Mouse had to witness the ugly side of him, but when he saw the pimp making moves on the woman he was crushing on, it made him snap with rage. He hated to be a jealous man, but he was, undeniably.
But Tango had other issues on his mind. He didn’t get the construction job. They turned him away like a bad habit. He didn’t have the courage to tell Mouse the bad news, so he stayed away from her for a day or two and needed to think about other alternatives to make some money. She needed help, an escape from her hell, and he was determined to give her that.
Tango and Mike lingered on the building rooftop with the view of the sprawling projects looking ghetto and picturesque in the night. The projects were quiet tonight, no gunshots and no police sirens crackling in the dark. The two men had their privacy to talk. Mike looked swallowed up by the puffy winter coat he had on. His style and jewelry were an indication of his wealth. He was a heavy hitter in the streets, well known and high ranking with Bronx Mafia Boys.
Tango looked nonchalant. He gazed at the Bronx glimmering with lights that stretched for blocks and seemed endless. Literally, it felt like he was on top of the world again, peering down at the cold Bronx street with admiration for his hood. He reminisced about his past for a moment and shared a cool conversation with a good friend.
“I don’t give a fuck ’bout any Rico; nigga name don’t ring bells around me,” Tango replied.
“Well he did wit’ Mouse. That used to be her boo. The nigga got her and her best friend pregnant at the same time, and that’s her baby father now and when that nigga had it, she had it. You feel me?” Mike said. “He spoiled her, gave her whatever she wanted.”
Tango didn’t respond, he continued smoking the Newport and listened to his friend for over twenty years drill in his head about Mouse being used to having the finer things in life. He had to open his eyes to his realization: he was an ex-con on parole, no job, no cash, and probably an uncertain future; and he liked a woman who was used to having the best. So he thought.
“And her pops was straight loco, Hector was a straight lunatic out in these streets back in the days.”
“Yeah, I remember that nigga. He used to run wit’ Latin Kings back in the day,” Tango said.
“Yeah, you know ’bout the nigga, and a shorty like that you know the only way to hold her down is having that bank nigga,” said Mike.
“I’m on parole, Mike, fo’ a minute; and I gotta get my paperwork up, something to show my PO. A nigga need a fuckin’ job, my nigga. You know what I’m sayin’. I’m used to always havin’ money in my pocket and this struggling shit, I can’t get wit’ it,” Tango proclaimed.
“What type of work you lookin’ for?”
“Anything, my nigga. I just need some real bread in my hand,” Tango replied.
“I mean, I got some shit fo’ you, my nigga, if you ready to put in that serious work.”
“What kind of work?”
Mike didn’t reply right at that moment. He took a few pulls from his cigarette too and gazed at the lively borough. He kept his look away from Tango and said, “You hungry right?”
“Nigga, I’m fuckin’ starving right now. So what kinda work you talkin’ ’bout?”
“A few 187 needs done,” Mike replied coolly, like he was talking about mechanic work on a car.
Tango didn’t say anything for a minute. He took one final pull from the cigarette and flicked it off the rooftop. He blew smoke out his mouth and nostrils and looked pensive. He turned to look at Mike and asked, “How much?”
“Five thousand a head.”
“Y’all banking like that?”
Mike reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. He showed it to Tango and said, “It’s a new day, Tango, and ya lethal-ass could get this money out here. You was no joke back in the day, and we could use a hitter like you in the crew.”
“Y’all beefin’ wit’ YGC, right?”
“Man, fuck them putas.”
Tango was indecisive. He just came home, and ten years was a long time to be away from home. But times were hard. He felt lost. He wanted a change but society still labeled him a menace to society. It felt easy to pull up his old roots and plant what he knew what was going to grow best for him: putting in that work on the streets.
Tango locked eyes with his old friend and had to ask again, “Five thousand a head, huh?”
“Five stacks, my nigga. It’s easy money to be made for easy work, especially for a killer wit’ ya skills.”
“Yeah, it’s easy work until a nigga get caught.”
“Tango, you too smooth and skilled to get caught,” Mike replied.
“Then explain the ten years I just did.”
“Nigga, we all pay our dues in this game, just chalk it up as the cost of doin’ business out there,” Mike replied.
Tango chuckled. “The cost of doin’ business huh?”
“Hells yeah.”
“Then business is gettin’ pretty expensive out this muthafucka,” said Tango.
“Nigga, who you tellin’?”
Tango felt reluctant in taking the job, but hard times were crushing down on him and he had a beautiful woman and her daughter to take care of.
“You do this for us and we got you, my nigga. You ain’t gonna have to worry ’bout a dime ever,” Mike assured him.
Tango sighed heavily. His mind was telling him no, but hard times was pushing him to say yes. “Who y’all want got?”
Mike smiled. “This puta named Dodo.”
“I want half right now and another half after the job is done. And I do it on my terms,” said Tango.
Mike nodded, approving to the stipulations to the deal. “Whatever you need, Tango. Welcome back.”
Tango didn’t respond; instead he lit another cigarette and looked aloof. He had to do what he had to do, even if it meant shaking hands with the devil again. A man had to survive somehow and support the ones he loved.