The Lotus Crew Read Free Page A

rolled up both sleeves of his cotton pastel-blue shirt. The arms were spanking clean, and he turned them over slowly so Mr. Fob could verify this. JJ never hit his arms. Like wearing a sign for the heat. As juicy as those lines were, he let them be.
    â€œWell, they look clean to me,” Mr. Fob said astutely, eyes straining through Coke-bottle wire rims. “But that doesn’t mean you haven’t taken pills or drunk something.”
    â€œNoooosssa. Jus’ no sleep las’ ni’. I was playin’ basketball an’ the guys aks me t’ hang out’n sing late. We was hittin’ fows an’ bows all ni’, sa. Dass all.”
    â€œWell, all right. Your eyes say something else, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Say, are you in the glee club?”
    â€œOhh, noooossa. I c’n on’y sing fows an’ bows wi’ m’frien’s. I don’ likes t’be singin’ nothin’ else.”
    Mr. Fob’s exasperated sigh marked the end of the conversation. He rose to his feet, shook his head, and went on to educate someone else.

Not Too Long Ago, N.Y.C.
    T LIT A THICK REEFER of golden-red Jamaican and looked out the window at a perpetually teeming Sheridan Square. He hadn’t been out of the joint long enough to adjust to having so many options and didn’t know what to do first. He was about to throw on his jacket and take a walk when the buzzer sounded. That was rare. The bell plate downstairs was a dummy. In order to ring you had to remove the plate and connect two wires underneath. It was either Alvira or one of the Rastas bringing him some cake from the ganja shops. Praise Jah. He glanced at a mirror that afforded full view of the front stoop. It was Alvira.
    T clicked into his business personality as he buzzed the door open. Mr. Sparks waited for footsteps on the stairs.
    â€œAlvira, I thought you stepped out of the circle, m’man. You’re two days late.”
    â€œYeah, I had a little blowout while you were gone, T. Figured I committed myself to being a good boy once we start, so I’d party one last time for—”
    â€œYou have a habit?”
    â€œNaw. Didn’t run that long. Just three or four days. I feel fine, baby. I’m ready to go. You have the number set up yet?”
    T shrugged and passed Alvira the reefer. “You know what makes a pro in this business, Alvira?” he said with conviction. “A dealer does not use. That’s either a law of physics or it should be, dig?” Tommy’s sharp liquid brown eyes were fixed on his friend.
    Alvira had his own thoughts on the matter, but outwardly he agreed. He had no business contradicting T. When it came to the trade, T was usually right. Out of sheer respect for his partner’s financial expertise, Alvira nodded emphatically.
    â€œI remember a cool that worked for me years ago uptown, back when I was running that Doublesmile bag.”
    â€œYeah, before you went to the can. That had to be three years ago.”
    â€œYeah. So this cool would meet me once a week, and I’d pass him the medicine all bagged and ready. Fifties, with the Doublesmile logo stamped on each sealed quarter-gram bag. He’d hand me the cake from the last bunch, and I’d hand him the new material. I never once counted the cake, Alvira. It was always on the money. This was cookin’ for maybe six months. The two of us were splitting over four grand weekly behind this number, so I just assumed I was the best friend this cool ever had and he’d never fuck me over, you know? So one day I show and he’s got the shorts. Some riff about his wife’s sick and he dropped two grand on specialists. But while he’s talkin’ I can sense his condition. I figured he just had a little blowout like the one you’re talkin’ about . . .”
    Alvira flushed.
    â€œâ€¦ So I told him we’d split the shorts and handed him his