Part 2: Baja Leai & the Road to New York
Henry, a strung-out Irish drug dealer, meets Ray at a party; Ray charms the brothers with stories; at their apartment for a heroin deal, Ray reveals himself as a hitman, kills Henry, and fights Harry in brutal combat.
Henry looked up into the mirror to find the reflection of a man he didn’t recognize. Crazed, bloodshot, sunken eyes stared back at him from under greasy, unkempt hair. His cheekbones and chin jutted out from his face like a skeleton. How long had it been since he’d slept? From the hazy recesses of his mind, he remembered that he had slept on a couch for maybe an hour more than a day ago. Before then, it was anyone’s guess. He had eaten before he slept, but not since. Eating now would only serve to bring him down. He took out his billfold. It was two inches thick with hundreds, fifties, and twenties.
He checked to ensure the product was still in his jacket pocket. It was.
The foreign bathroom was swimming before his eyes, reality thin and wavy with intoxication.
Whose place is this?
His mind returned the answer in vague terms. Some cocktail waitress wannabe-actress. A face came to mind, a high-cheekboned brunette with a thin, fragile nose and diminutive features. A name failed to register. She was a friend of his brother, Harry.
Harry and Henry grew up in Harlem. The only two Irish boys on the block, they were put in a tough position. Their single mother worked two, sometimes three jobs, and never had the time to care for her boys. They never had a childhood. They had raised each other. They had raised themselves up in the sprawling ghettos of New York. Henry’s knuckles were scarred and discolored from fighting. He had a scar on his left cheek, and another on his left forearm. He was tall and lanky, like his brother. Both possessed the violent, sinewy strength of a caged, starved animal, and the cunning that only the most unforgiving of circumstances can gift a man. Harry was missing two of the top row of his teeth. He chose not to have them replaced with gold. He kept the places where they should be empty in a silent reminder to whoever he talked to of the violence he had experienced and the violence he was capable of, just like his marshmallow-cauliflower right ear. Yes, he could have drained the blood and wrapped it carefully to preserve its original shape, like his coach had shown him, but he liked his new deformity and the weight it carried.
Henry splashed cold water on his face and ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He straightened the collar on his leather jacket and took a deep breath, centering himself. He stared into his own steel-blue eyes and gave himself a mental pep-talk.
Keep it together, man. Confident. Nobody can fuck with you. Nothing can touch you.
The doorknob jerked and clicked as someone tried the lock. Henry ignored it. He carefully lined up a couple tenths of powdered cocaine on the sink and blasted it into his left nostril. It felt like a shot of adrenaline. Now, the man staring back at him was handsome and cut, practically glowing confidence.
Outside, someone banged on the bathroom door loudly with their fist.
“Wait your turn, asshole,” He called flatly. No response, but the banging stopped. He returned the package to its home on his person and took one more moment fixing himself in the mirror and mentally preparing himself to re-enter the wild, carefully taking enough time to add to the exasperation of whomever was standing patiently outside the bathroom. Finally, he unlocked the door and swung it open, locking eyes with the guy who must have been responsible. Neither of them said anything, but for about a second and a half, they met each other’s gazes in challenge. Henry had to look down on him; he was a good three or four inches taller than the man.
Then, the moment was over, and Henry strode back into the wild, past a group of chatty Mexican girls in revealing outfits. There was a break in their chatter as he sauntered by, filled quickly by a Chicano attempting to impress them with the beginning of some story about a bar called Hayley’s. The lights were dim in the living room. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like a fog of war. Well-dressed men with glasses full of Kentucky bourbon offered underdressed women lines divided out on the glass-centered table. From the second bedroom, fashioned to be a sort of office-lounge, a pale red light emanated. She had one of those colored light bulbs. It gave the room an eerie glow, accentuating the flesh hues in his brother’s and Ray’s faces as he entered.
Ray was a character, the type of uptown yuppie trash Henry was used to ripping off. His bulging biceps and thick, bronzed forearms didn’t intimidate him. He was short. Henry had knocked out a lot of short, stocky, bulldog types. Plus, it was hard to be intimidating in a Hawaiian shirt, fedora, and what Henry made out to be a badly made wig of straight-cut shoulder length golden-blonde hair.
What a chump.
Harry was grinning like a fool and sipping on his jack and coke while intently listening to the story the stranger was retelling. Ray paused and rose to face Henry with a warm expression as he entered the room. Henry gave him the same cold, deadly stare he had given the man by the bathroom.
“Ease up tiger, this cat’s good company,” Harry said, lightly punching Henry on the shoulder as he sat down next to his brother, opposite of Ray. “He runs with Leroy and them. All straight business.”
Henry was still on edge. Instinct told him that anytime his trust need be coerced, it shouldn’t.
However, Harry was his brother, and that counts for something.
“So there I was, standing outside this corner store off of 22nd, the one by Papa’s, you know that one? Anyway, I’m standing there smoking and drinking forties with these three jokers from Houston, Latino dudes I met up the way, and we’re just sitting there bullshitting, and this broad walks up,” Ray said, “So this here broad is beautiful. I mean just drop dead gorgeous. The type of girl that would turn heads from across a four lane highway, you know what I mean? Cute face, tight body, and a fat,” He made a shapely motion with his hands, pantomiming a set of curvaceous hips, “Fat fucking ass. Like the type of ass that would make you forget about your old lady like amnesia,” He took a drag off the cigarette.
“So I’m think of what to say to this broad when one of these jokers beats me to the punch. He says to her, ‘Hey don’t I know you?’ And the lady gets this deer-in-the-headlights expression all of a sudden, like she had just seen a ghost, and she just runs inside without even saying anything. So, I’m thinking, ‘What the hell! This broad is in New York and is going to make a scene anytime a guy talks to her’? What gives?’”
“So I say to the guy, ‘Hey man, what was that all about?’ Thinking he actually knew this broad.
Turns out, he did. The guy tells me that he and his friends ran a train on her when she was seventeen.
The whole five of them just took turns fuckin’ the shit out of her, no rubbers, nothing. He didn’t even know the bitch; he had just met her that night. Crazy thing is, that was four years ago in Houston, and here this bitch is walking up out of nowhere in the middle of New York”
“That’s crazy,” Said Harry, “Small fucking world.”
“Wait, it gets better. So one of the other guys turns to him and says some shit like, ‘That’s my fucking prima, wey,’ so I guess the bitch was his cousin, you know? So they start saying shit in Spanish to each other and the other guy, the guy whose cousin is the girl, he swings at the first guy. Well, the first guy must have seen it coming because he just slips it and knocks the guy out cold, just lays him the fuck out. And he’s like, ‘Damn essay, ain’t my fault your cousin’s a hoe,”’ Ray took another drag and exhaled.
“So we’re all cracking up about this and the guy is still out cold when the bitch walks out of the store. So one of the other guys says to her, ‘Hey, your cousin just got knocked the fuck out,’ and she turns and looks at the guy and says, “I ain’t never seen that nigga before. I’m from South Carolina.’ Turns out it wasn’t even the same bitch,” Ray began laughing heartily, and on cue Harry joined in.
“What’d I tell you man, this guy is great,” Harry said. Henry nodded, silently admitting that it was a pretty good story.
“Where you from, man? I ain’t never seen you here before,” Henry asked.
“Chicago.”
“What’cha doing all the way out here, then?”
“My sister’s about to get married to this Italian cat, Luke,” Henry and Harry exchanged glances, “Now I’ve known this cat for years because my people do business with his people, but I really want to case him out, see what the guy’s all about.”
“And?” Henry said.
“And he’s just another regular ass Italian guy. Works at a goddamn pizza joint, if you can believe that. Can’t say anything bad about the guy, even if he is banging my sister.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Lisa,” It didn’t ring a bell.
“So wadda ya want, guy?” Henry finally asked. Down to brass tacks.
“I’m dying to cop a piece of boy. The H we got in Chicago ain’t worth shit.”
“We might be able to help you out,” Henry said.
“Got a place I can shoot up, man? I gotta make sure the shit’s legit,” Ray said.
“Yeah man, we got a place if you’re serious about buying.”
Ray flashed an impressive bankroll and said, “This party sucks, let’s get out of here,” The two brothers nodded and stood up. Ray followed them in his Cadillac the eight blocks over to the uptown building where Henry and Harry rented a fully-furnished 2,000 square foot top-floor studio.
“Nice place,” Ray said, eyeing a waist high Egyptian cat statue. He plopped himself down on a Victorian-era upholstered loveseat. It sat facing the center of the room, like a throne. He produced a small, black leather bag, the kind that users keep their kits. Henry went behind a fold out Japanese paper-style divider that separated what appeared to be a bedroom-area. Harry sat opposite of Ray and dumped out the sticky-green contents of a metal grinder on a metal tray on top of the mahogany wood table in front of him. He produced a pack of rolling papers and carefully began filling one with the plant.
Henry appeared from behind the divider with what looked like half a zip of off-white powder. He uncovered a small scale and began to measure out a tenth of a gram of the heroine. Both brothers occupied, and no-one else around, Ray rose from his seat, expertly drew his silenced firearm, and put two rounds in Henry’s chest without hesitation. The nine-millimeter pistol made a solid thumping sound as the releasing gasses disabled the projectile from crossing the sonic barrier. Ray was fast; Henry didn’t stand a chance. He had counted on Harry to be the duck, hoping that his guard would be down. He had appeared overly friendly and careless at the party, giving Ray his cue. The marijuana confirmed his suspicions, or so he thought. Much to Ray’s surprise, Harry reacted with cat-like speed. Instead of diving behind the furniture and attempting to return fire, as Ray had pegged him to do in the case that he responded in time, he launched himself directly over the coffee table, directly at Ray and his pointed gun.
The round that Ray fired at Harry passed straight through the meaty part of his shoulder. The skinny Irish kid hit him full-on, like a football player, and both combatants tumbled over the Victorian loveseat, toppling it as they vied for control of the gun.
Ray scrambled to his knees, still managing to keep control of the gun with his right hand as he posted his left hand on the floor to stand up. Harry was already on his feet, one hand on Ray’s back, and the other on his wrist. He pushed down, pressuring Ray to stay down as he circled behind to stay out of the path of the gun. He stepped behind him as Ray popped deftly up to his feet. Ray spun around, leading with his right elbow, searching for Harry’s chin, but Harry had seen it coming, and caught Ray’s spinning elbow with his left hand. Now, with both hands on Ray’s right arm, he jerked him hard off balance and simultaneously swept his left foot across the floor.
Ray toppled on to his back, trying to roll to face Harry, but as he hit the ground, Harry dropped into an armbar, throwing his legs around Ray’s chest and extending his arms straight out. The duo laid on the floor for a moment, struggling to out-muscle each other. Ray was stout, and his powerful bicep strained to curl his arm back to safety, but slowly Harry tightened his position and prepared to break Ray’s arm. Ray pulled the trigger twice, sending rounds harmlessly past Harry’s left ear and into the far wall, and bucked hard, trying to reach his arms together and get off his back, but Harry arched his back and curled his legs, maintaining the arm bar. Ray turned and strained helplessly, trying to force his way out of the hold, but Harry’s frame stayed coiled like a deadly anaconda.
Ray bit Harry’s left thigh, tearing through his pant leg and into the tender flesh underneath.
Harry cried out in pain, and Ray took the momentary reprieve to twist himself into a kneeling position on top of Harry, still between his legs. Harry had lost the arm bar, but maintained control of Ray’s arm. He knew what to do. He posted his right leg on Ray’s left hip, creating distance and allowing his left leg to swing over top of his head. Then, he ducked his left shoulder and head to transfer Ray’s gun-arm over his own head, and switched his hips, allowing his right leg to slide under Ray’s left arm and over-top of his own left foot in a figure-four position. A perfect triangle choke, and he still controlled the gun holding arm with both of his own. He extended his body and squeezed with his legs.
Ray felt it immediately. The choke was cutting off the flow of blood to his head. It came on quick, and despite straining his powerful neck muscles against the assailant, he couldn’t overpower both of his legs. Ray resisted the temptation to pull the trigger of the gun blindly, and placed his left foot flat on the floor next to Harry’s hip. With great effort, he rocked upon his planted foot and placed his other foot on the floor. He was fading fast, darkness closing at the edges of his vision. Ray’s powerful muscles extended like a powerlifter at the apex of a heavy squat and lifted both of them up, suspending Harry in the air. The kid didn’t let go, and curled his body tighter, trying to finish the choke. Ray kept raising up until he was standing straight, then he let his knees soften, hyperextending his back, threw his head back, raising the attacker even farther into the air, and slammed him down onto the floor. The mighty crash caused Harry to slip and release Ray. Ray steadied his hand and fired the pistol into his downed opponent’s chest twice, and once into his neck before promptly losing consciousness as all the blood rushed to his head.