The following day, mid-morning brunch was served to raucous hordes of downtown shoppers and the hospital workers at the Midtown II restaurant. It was nestled among the small stores across from the Thomas Jefferson Hospital. The sun beamed violently through the windows lighting the quiet corners of the café. While diners dashed in and out of the restaurant, a sinister meeting took place in the far corner.
“Let me be concise, here,” McKenzey said his voice full of ire. “I asked you to track him. I figured you had mastered your craft. I thought of myself as lucky to have a former partner like you. Too bad they forced us to split up. But right now, Kareem’s feeling like he can shock me at his discretion. And guess what, you have successfully raised his confidence by not killing Dre last night.”
“Listen here, the outcome of this is the result of your ineptitude. Do not talk to me like I am one of your subservient thugs. You called me in to help you out. The self-proclaimed guru, the ayatollah. Don’t exercise your jaw muscles to scold me again,” Agent Belton said, unconcerned about McKenzey’s problems.
“Can I take your order?” the waitress asked, stymieing Belton’s view of the restaurant’s entrance. McKenzey’s back was to the entrance. The woman recorded their orders on her pad, and then stuffed her pen into her braided hair, before she said, “Coming right up.”
“Who me?” Kareem asked the waitress, and then took a seat at the booth, entering the agent’s purlieu. He had a sly, foxy grin on his face. While McKenzey’s face exposed the haunting details of his flabbergast.
“Speak of the devil,” McKenzey said.
“And the devil shall appear. You talked me right up,” Kareem said, boldly. He was there to shock and administer a dose of fear to the agents. “So, what’s up, boys?”
“Funny you ask. We were just discussing you going up,” McKenzey said. “Up to the penitentiary.”
“I bet you crawled here to work something out.” Belton said, he did not believe the audacity.
“You can work yourself out of this conversation, flea!” Kareem said, quickly.
“Mac?” Belton started. “I could pummel him right here to avoid the headache.”
“That wouldn’t be wise. I promise that. I’ll remind you of your high school bully. All cops had one, pussy!”
Belton jumped to his feet in an attempt to intimidate. Kareem was faster and more agile, with no sign of fright. The two men breathed in each other’s face.
“Belt, why don’t you let me have a chat with, Mr. Bezel?” McKenzey had a sneer plastered on his face, but he had to diffuse the situation. He died to know how that encounter was brought to life.
“Are you sure?” Kareem asked. “The last time we were in private, you do remember what happened?” Kareem let that sink in and then asked, “You do know the score?”
Belton looked at McKenzey and huffed in disgust as he left the table.
“I’ll be straight forward,” McKenzey said.
Kareem cut him smooth off. “You’re not in a position to speak first. I come to find some common ground between us.”
“If you ever find it, it will no longer be common,” McKenzey responded, staring into Kareem’s cold eyes. He sipped his coffee.
“Mac—it’s o’right for me to call you Mac, right?” Kareem asked, politely and went on. “You’re not starting off on the right foot. I am here to make an offer. I’m willing to pay you to back off, but I want all of the intelligence that the feds have on me and my brother at your 6th Street haven for pigs. You know, over there at the year long cock-sucker’s convention.”
“You’re this year’s key note speaker. Here’s some advice for you. My loyalty cannot be bought.”
“A quick wit for an asshole. You’re a strange one to mention price with all of the back pockets your hands have dipped into.” The waitress placed two steak dishes in front of them, interrupting Kareem. She disappeared, and he continued, “To get us on the same course, I’ll tell you that I’ve learned you thrive on terrorizing the weaker and more cowardly. You’re weak and ineffectual, though.” He paused, taking a stab into Belton’s medium-rare porterhouse. He chewed the steak, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and raved, “This is good,” as if nothing happened.
“I have better things to do than play with you.”
“Well let’s cut to the chase. I plan to go to the public with the information that I have on you—” McKenzey tried to speak, but Kareem wasn’t having that. He was taking this show to a dramatic climax. “I will pay you to disregard the information in exchange for the investigative notes and files from any policing agency regarding me or my brother. This quid pro quo comes with a million dollar bounty attached. Half now, and the otha half when you deliver. Or you can exchange tossed salad in prison with a man that looks like Shaq, but named Tiny.”
“Foreplay like this only leads to sex. I am not that egregious. However,”—he pulled out a tape recorder—“I could arrest you for this chicanery. But I won’t. I’d like it much better snatching you off a Bryant Park runway during fall fashion week.”
“I don’t mean to rape the thunder from your confidence, but you’re not in control. I know what you did to my father, bitch ass cracka!”
“Our business is done. Obviously my last statement eluded your high fashion IQ. I am a decorated officer and I have the connection complexion. Don’t-fuck-with-me.”
“Check please,” Kareem yelled to the waitress, as he left McKenzey at the table.
McKenzey laughed at the kid’s tenaciousness.
***
McKenzey left a $5 tip on the table, and then used an ATM in the diner to withdraw cash to cover the tab. He obtained forty bucks and checked his balance. He scanned the receipt, and something came over him. He had a burning desire to get the fuck out of America and pound the pavements of some foreign city. Five minutes earlier, he felt up for the continued Bezel challenge, but after discovering $500,000 extra in his bank account, he wanted to wave the white flag.
At that moment McKenzey’s cell phone rang. He answered and Kareem said, “Guess, I’m laughing now, bitch-ass clown!”