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Writer's pictureJ. Joseph

Quietly Under Assault in South-End

Micky closes the door behind her fast. She’s right to do that, of course. Can’t afford too much exposure. Not anymore. Because, as the old timey saying goes, it’s not paranoia if they’re really all out to get you. I usher her over to the table. She pulls out her relatively new burner, taking it apart, breaking it, and tossing it into a small plastic bin. I hand her a new one. This is the fourth time we’ve switched phones in the last month. Somehow, someway, those assholes from South-Central still manage to find our drops. We’re losing tens of thousands in product every week. “Is it just us, Larry,” Micky asks, “Or are the other outfits getting hit, too?”

“You thinking someone at the table’s double-dipping?” I muse back, “I don’t know. I talked with my old buddy Rick down in the FFD, and even all the way down there the SCers are making moves.”

“Fair, but I’m thinking it’s those assholes from Gren. They always wanted a bigger slice of the pie, ever since the Ho-Families United took the Square Lake’s surrounding blocks from them.”

“I’d buy that, sure, but that still doesn’t explain how they’re finding out our drops.”

Micky pauses, to think. Then, suddenly, her eyes light up like she’s realized something. “Hold up a second. Didn’t Janet and her arm of the Gren crew used to roll deep in the North End War with that crazy family who took over the Rosey?”

I shake my head and try to wave her off. “Alright, alright, before we get too up in there with conspiracy theories, I’m thinking there might be a simpler option. You heard what’s been going down in Midtown, right?”

She furrows her brow. “Nah, I actually haven’t been hearing much from that. There a war or some shit going on?”

“The opposite. They got this new connect that’s forcing a bunch of the old warring crews to make peace. I’m thinking, if someone is putting in all the effort to consolidate Midtown, they might could be working on the rest of the City.”

“Cutting us off from our connect would be a good start, but they couldn’t do it theyselves,” Micky countered, “Anyone who knows shit would know none of the outfits down here would move work for someone who attacked us first. Memories run long.”

“And violent, I know. But some newcomer might not,” I shake my head. “Don’t know, just a thought. Either way, we’ve got a pickup from our suppliers this week. We got the cash to cover, but we won’t be able to afford it next time if we can’t get this product on the street. Gather a crew you absolutely trust, and don’t tell no one else. As far as everyone outside this room knows, we don’t got our reup for another month. Okay?”

“Sure,” she says with a shrug, “I think Old Sam and Billy will work well enough. Maybe Wilson and Alexis, too. How dangerous we talking?”

“Their transpo’s leaving it in a sealed container down under the Earle. So make sure you’ve got enough too keep you under cover fire if any Goar swing by.”

“Fuck. Why can’t their transpo ever actually come up into at least the Upper Bay?” Micky muses absentmindedly.

I smile. “Because they actively hate you personally and specifically,” I joke. “Now then, you think you can find enough people you trust to do this pickup?”

Micky thinks for a moment. Good. That means she’s taking it seriously. “Yeah, though I might leave it last minute. Just so we can be sure. You good with that?”

I nod. “I trust you,” I reply earnestly. This she is good at. The big picture, less so, but that’s why she thrives as my top lieutenant. Or, we’d normally be thriving. Of late, less so, but it’s hardly her fault that our airtight operation seems to be as leaky as it was back in the day when we had deific interference. Only back then everyone was on the same page. Sure the man who called himself God had plenty of information on our ops, but he and his kid always came to us first, out of politeness. Used that information as leverage for negotiating. Never did they actually use the info, because the threat could get them whatever they really were looking for.

That gives me a frightening thought. The kid and the God left, sure, but what if someone else, someone with less scruples, figured out how he learned his info. We still aren’t positive, and since no one else really knows, whatever secret pathways he had back then probably are still exploitable. That sends a shiver down my spine. All the phone rotation won’t matter if that’s the case.

I shake away that though. If that is the case, worrying about it isn’t going to change anything. And if it’s not, worrying will just make me expend more effort than necessary to try to work around the easy solutions. After all, the more complex a solution, the easier it is for someone along the way to trip up and pull us all down with them. Micky sees that I’m lost in my own thoughts about the issue, nods, and heads off. She knows I need her to be focused, and worrying about me isn’t focusing. She’ll go and pick up this drop, then we’ll be good for another month or so. Two, if we cut this reup enough. Some risk to that, but as long as we cut it slightly purer than what we’ve been forced into selling these last few months, we shouldn’t draw too much ire.

My musing is interrupted by the entrance of Joey. One of my capos, but an up and comer. He and his crew run the Bow for us. “Any particular reason for the early rotation?” he asks, dumping a bunch of broken burners into the bin alongside Micky’s.

“Probably just paranoia, you know how I can be,” I half joke. “Beyond that isn’t your concern. If something more comes of it, you and yours’ll know. I’d say first, but prolly third or fourth, depending on the deets.”

Joey chuckles. “Of course. After your girl Mick and whoever you’d get to fix shit.”

I smile wryly. “Something like that. How’re things over in the Bow? The Ho-Families United bothering you?”

Joey shakes his head. “They know better than to cross over the border-canal. Besides, from what I’ve heard, they’re far too focused on fucking with the Gren to turn their attentions eastward.”

“Keep an eye out, just in case. And your shit is on lock?”

He shrugs. “We’ve been working on streamlining our shit, making sure we’ve got full ass control over it, from you to the corners. But if we want to do this for another month, we’re gonna need more product.” They always push for more product. And I ain’t about to tell some ambitious up and comer about our supply problem. Or the timing of the individual supply runs.

“Yeah, I know we need product. But that doesn’t change when the connect’s reups happen. We operate on their schedule.”

“Until we streamline that shit,” Joey half jokes. He’s not being entirely serious, as ambitious as he is, he ain’t stupid. He’s not going to go and fuck over our relationship with a connect without a plan set. But he’s not just talking out his ass either. If we were to figure out a way to cut out the current guys on the mainland, we could operate more efficiently. But with more risk, I’m not sure it’s worth it. Yet.

I shake my head. “I get it, you can talk that kind of shit here, where I make sure there aren’t any ears I can’t deafen. But don’t be running your mouth like that outside these offices. You never can tell who’s listening.”

“Of course, man. But I figured you’d get it,” Joey replied, suddenly his jovial, cocky expression becoming entirely consumed with somber respect. “After all, even all the way out west in the Bow, we’ve heard the stories of the old Tompkins Lake family.”

Of course they have. They are us. A minor family, who was a part of a larger organization. Rose to prominence through consolidating and streamlining their local area. Then through deals and quiet expansion, took over that larger crew. And the threat of his statement is implicit. Get my shit together, or he’d do what I did all those years ago. I simply smile. “Get the new burners to your people. And know this.” I lean in towards the minor capo. “We’ve got a plan, so everyone is either with us and we all rise up together. Or they’re not, and we leave them broken, trapped on the concrete.” Not entirely true, but hopefully he’s not ready to call me quite yet.

Joey nods. “I look forward to seeing our enemies broken below us,” he replies, his face still somber and respectful. He takes up the bag of burners and heads out. He’s not going to overtly disobey me. Not yet. But he’s either going to be a major problem or a fantastic fucking solution. Depending entirely on how Micky’s supply run goes.

I can’t help but smile. Like it or not, Joey brought back to mind those lovely days, before I had to worry about all this shit. Back when Micky and I were a minor arm of the old ABC crew. Two families bound together by old friendship. Well, three, technically, but that’s a complicated story, and one I don’t like reminiscing on. But once we were all allied, and settled in around the Lake, it was easy. Finding solutions. Making friends of enemies to bring down our enemies that believed us to be their friends. When you’re conquering a place, you don’t have to worry about the details near as much. Or the details that are frustrating, all the details we thought about back then were the fun ones. Schemes and plans. No worries about failing. No great responsibilities revolving around maintaining the peace between families, between arms of my own organization. We only had to take care of twelve city blocks and a lake. It was as relaxing as running a criminal organization could be back then.

Now it’s all more complicated. Especially with someone moving against us. Moving against all the families. And life requires me to examine the details. If a connect is conquering South-Central, where would they be from? How would they maintain shit? They’d need to have connections to the mainland, and something on at least enough people to get a foothold. Not neighbors, either, they’d never work with neighbors. Who the fuck would all the SC crews and gangs trust. It hits me. It should’ve been obvious from the beginning. Who’s been a thorn in our fucking side ever since the early days of the God’s ascension. The goddamned Empire.

If the Empire is behind this consolidation, behind these attacks on us, we’re going to need to do something. I need to get enough evidence against those hackers to present to the heads of the families. Because, as much as we could go in there guns blazing, there’s no way we’d manage to get our people there without the families north of us letting our men pass. And the only way they’re doing that is a coordinated effort. If I’m getting them on board, it shouldn’t be too much more work to establish a temporary ceasefire for all our mutual benefits, right? I’ll need the FFD on board, of course. Kips and the ‘Sea would be ideal as well. The four of us working together would go a long way to get the rest of the families on board. To get Gren and the Ho-Families together might take some additional effort. Throw them some of our clean, uncut work from the shipment, maybe? Yeah, that’ll be rough, especially with Joey riding my ass. Maybe if I can get the other families to split the cost with us, it would placate. Whatever the play, I need eyes and ears in the Empire. Because I need evidence.

With a thin smile, I walk back to the wall phone in my office and dial up an old friend. “Deb, a favor if you will.”

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