It had only been three hours since Mallory Street cleared. At 2am the claustrophobic one-way was littered with more flashing lights than a carnival. Cops roamed around deterring nosey neighbors and searching for evidence while paramedics took out the trash. Another two drug dealers shot at point blank range, one dead on impact, the other was on his last leg before he died a half hour later at the hospital. It’s not easy navigating through today’s economy. You either have a job that pays you with responsibility or you don’t and it’s up to the streets to decide whether you survive or not. And after tonight, Mallory has spoken. Two more lives to hang on her mantle.
I grabbed my second to last smoke from the counter and lit up after a couple of strikes. My window watching over the inner-city basketball court was riddled with dozens of fingerprints and a half-hearted smiley face. I took a big puff, thinking that I need to clean that, but the thought slipped my mind when the phone buzzed.
I was hoping for a bank alert telling me that some nice soul magically wired me a couple grand, but instead, the property manager messaged me about late rent. This was typical for every first of the month. Dodge the first couple of emails, skip a few phone calls, avoid walking in front of the leasing office even though the parking lot was just a few feet away – big part of the reason why I said fuck it and started smoking in my apartment. It was a trash can lid anyway- the top floor studio that covered up the rat-infested homes.
I pocketed my phone and slipped on some Converses by the door. When I got to the walk-in gate, I recognized the empty fifth of Rower’s Bourbon that I had tossed in the lawn the night before. I grabbed it, made sure it was empty, and wedged it in my purse. In some weird universe this was the standard walk of shame, rolling out of bed at 6 am with ratty hair and cigarette burns just to avoid the embarrassment of picking up day old booze carcasses. But in my universe, this was just what I did before grabbing coffee.
The best thing about living in the city was the sounds. Walking from Apecs Apartments to the corner store was like passing through a music hall of all genres. Somedays you’d hear a violinist weeping in grand performance, and other days you’d witness an up and coming rapper playing his first hit before anyone even knew his name. It was incredible, really. How could a city so rundown create something so beautiful? They say good stems from bad or fruitfulness emerges from heartbreak. I saw it as a grassroots campaign to revolt against all the assholes that kept the area down for three decades. A city of adaptation – willingness to harness things like music and show just how incredible it can be.
Today was no different. A sax man with dark skin and a shaved head sat on top of a used paint bucket. The notes he played were sad but soothing. A boy who may have been his grandson sat beside him and played a slow beat on top of a plastic lid. As I approached them, I closed my eyes and felt the concoction of rhythm flow through my ears drums and linger there like a house dog in the sun. It warmed my body, ridding me of my half hangover and caffeine craving.
I listened for a few more seconds and dropped a dollar in the man’s tip jar. “Thanks, mam!” the boy shouted without skipping a beat. I gave him a nod and kept on.
Fifteen minutes later I was walking through the door of McCowl’s. The stench of last night’s party hit me like a fish market as I jostled the key out of the lock. I closed last night but Joe told me that an inspector could show up early, so he wanted me in to wash dishes, refill the ice bucket, and mop the bathrooms. It wasn’t bartender work, but I’d take the hours. Besides, Joe’s coke addiction always had him worrying about government bugs, so the chances of a health inspector perusing a no name bar were just short of an alien abduction. I stuffed three racks full of dirty glasses and grabbed a broom from the closet. I noticed a fresh case of bourbon sitting in the back of the storage room, which worked out because I jacked the last bottle while everyone was drunk.
When I finished cleaning the bathroom, Andrei sat at the bar stool. His thick beard and bushy eyebrows tried to hide under his baseball cap, but the tight black tee and tattoos gave away his position faster than a naked soldier. He looked up from his phone and called my name.
“Ms. Harper, tell me why a beautiful woman like you is diminished to washing day old puke stains?”
I rolled the mop bucket into the compartment in between the kitchen and bar. “Life choices,” I answered.
Andrei let out a smoky cough right after a giggle. “It’s amazing how change works, huh? One minute you could have the world in your palms, the next minute it can turn into a wash rag. I’ve seen it happen.”
I kept my distance from the raspy man and leaned on the east end of the bar. Andrei sat dead center, taking a sip of a vodka water that he must have made when I wasn’t in the room.
“I saw a picture of Sadie,” he said. “She looks good.” My stomach bottomed out at the mention of my sister’s name. “My family in Russia used to say that a girl with fire in her eyes can make it through war.” He took another drink. It was a quarter till eight and the man already had an empty glass. “Your sister reminds me of my mother, strong jawed and resilient.”
“Why did you come here to tell me this?” I asked. A radio alarm in the kitchen started to sound but I ignored it and stared at the thick Russian.
“That’s what I am, Ms. Harper. I’m a status man, at the steel mill they call it an expeditor. I tell you what you need to know and how your project is looking. Would you rather be kept in the dark?”
“I’d rather my sister be out of your fucking bullshit,” I said as I clenched my fist. My cheeks went flush and a drop of sweat dribbled down my side.
“Hm, maybe it’s you who reminds me of my mother,” he said. “You’ve met another milestone. Tiger says a few more should do the trick. Soon she’ll be with you, and you won’t ever have to see me again.”
“Bullshit. Your entire plan revolves around you moving your operations into the city.” The alarm stopped.
“I hope you aren’t being condescending.” The ice clanked on his teeth as Andrei searched for the last taste of vodka. “An apt businessman recognizes opportunity. The rich loves drugs, which can be run by the poor. We already have a system in place so why not buy out the competition at low cost. We have finance guys that run the numbers.”
“How many others have you black mailed?”
“A few. But none with such… success. You’re a natural.” The man pushed his glass away and leaned back. For the first time all morning he looked like the mob henchman that his scarred face proved him to be. I hated that I was in this mess, but I had dealt with cocky assholes before. I never backed down and I had always been resourceful enough to find a way out. The difference this time was Sadie. I wasn’t just looking after myself and trying to find a way to kick a man in the balls and run out the door. Now my little sister was being held in some abandoned warehouse, probably wondering what she did to deserve this and if anyone can hear her hopeless cries.
“But we didn’t black mail you, Harper,” Andrei continued. “You were caught, then we negotiated a plea deal. Again—apt business.”
“Just tell me what I have to do next.”
“The info is already in your mailbox. Make sure you don’t toss it with the junk mail.” He stood up and pushed the bar stool in. “The two men you took care of last night. They were Lonzo’s main dealers. You did great and this will help tremendously with our efforts. Maybe when all this is done you can do some real work for us. I’ll tell you now… it pays better than washing dishes and scrubbing toilets.”
Andrei slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and walked out the door. His cloud of cologne stayed behind like a homeless best friend as I looked at the money. It was like I could see into an alternate dimension, a portal that led to a future where Sadie looks at me with her big brown eyes and says how much she can’t wait for next weekend at the beach. I smiled as sunlight painted my cheek.
It’s not easy navigating through today’s economy. You either have a job that pays you with responsibility or you don’t and it’s up to the streets to decide whether you survive or not. And after tonight, Mallory speaks. Two more lives to hang on her mantle.