YNs— Pony Tail

1994

The smokers wiped down the chariot. Sodium bicarbonate sunk between the seats. Otherwise, they looked immaculate. The exterior grew cleaner with the clientele using soapy water to address the ‘92 black Ac’ Vigor. In the driver seat, Parnum Bell, 22 and inky black, looked at his rearview mirror on the side of the car. A huge splash of solution washed over the surface.

The rims stood at twenty inches and the suds slipped down the chrome, leaving a luster of suds.

Bell looked at one woman who had a tight t-shirt wrapped around her body, blood red with blue clam diggers fighting off a mean summer breeze. The sun just started to wheel towards the West. She walked closer to the vehicle.

“You want the inside done, too?” She held up a minivac.

Bell stepped out of the vehicle with no chain around his neck, just rings hugging his digits.

He did not give her money. Just a rolled up wad of cocaine kissed with the baking soda. She smiled, her teeth glistening white, she took care of her dental and her mental health while still being addicted to crack cocaine. She got in and started vacuuming the little particles until it looked as clean as the first day of school.

Bell looked at his beeper. The plug.

“Alright. Alright. Alright. Thank you!”

He hopped back in his chariot and drove from the East Side of Wilmington, Delaware, to the West Side. His plug’s name could not be found in any phone book. He had come up I-95 from Florida by way of Colombia and took up residence in the First State three years ago. Manuel Montoya, 41, had a net worth of eleven million dollars. Semi-retired, he still took parcels of the white lady. The irony was not lost on him that was what made him “semi” because everybody moves to sunny Florida for their retirement. He had a few good runs up north especially in the corridors of Baltimore, New York, Philly, and D.C. So, he chose to stay in the Diamond State just in case business started booming again. With Bell it did.

He hopped out of his freshly cleaned coupe and allowed himself time to gather all his nerve and understanding of Montoya, who still had a heavy accent despite being extremely fluent in English.

“Parnum! Parnum! Papa! How are you?” He peered out the window. “The car looks nice. But you need something nicer.” He showed him the Robb Report.

“I know, I know,” Bell acknowledged with a devilish smirk. “It was my first and only. The only car I ever purchased with straight cash.”

“Sentimental son of a bitch. Anyway, I’ve got something for you. You’re going to love it!”

Bell’s interest became thoroughly piqued. “It’s a phone with a caller ID. You won’t need to use your pager anymore.” Montoya showed him the device. Its blackness and chunkiness reminded him of a brick. Montoya stretched the antenna from its home.

“Cool. Cool. Cool. Thanks.”

“Hey, don’t thank me. Thank the game. You hustle hard, you get prizes.” Montoya walked around his apartment with an heir of a Spanish conquistador. It almost seemed like he glided. Bell shook his head and snickered. Montoya stopped, his gray jumpsuit looked immaculate with his icy white sneakers.

“I’ve got one hundred and sixty kis for you. They’re all packed up and ready.” Just then, Montoya’s woman, a white, strolled from the bedroom stark naked. Montoya didn’t care and Bell didn’t mind.

She looked like she just leapt from the cover or centerfold of Playboy magazine. She walked like a doe or some feral female exiting the brush. Her blonde hair looked feathery and complimented her perky bosom. Her backside looked sculpted and toned.

“Hey, Parnum.”

“Hey, Xalia.”

She bent over and did a bump off the dining room table. She then walked back into the bedroom. She uttered no more words.

“Not much of a talker, but she’d run a mile for you,” Montoya assured. “Anyway…you take these kis and you distribute them throughout the city. Let your runners enjoy a bonus, since it’s so much. You got that? We’re going to get you out of that rust bucket down there in no time.”

“I gotcha. When are you going back to Florida?”

“Never, if I can help it. I’m hot down there and I’m not just talking about the humidity. There’re boys and girls in blue who want nothing to do with bribes. I can respect that. But I don’t like it.”

Bell nodded his head. “Cool. Cool. Cool. I was thinking about going down there and then skipping to the Bahamas.”

“Now you are talking humidity.”

Bell helped Montoya with the bricks. The sun dropped below the horizon. The street lamps illuminated like giant glow worms atop poles.

“At least there’s one aspect of your car that is helpful…that customized suspension can hold tremendous weight.”

“Indeed.” Bell put the last of it in the Vigor.

“My friend,” Montoya mentioned with a smirk. “Look around you….” he spread his arms outward and flipped up his palms. “There’s nothing but clientele.” Men and women walked by the building scratching their necks from the formication. They seemed to move in slow motion.

“You do what you want because you are a boss,” Montoya smiled.

“I know.”

“See that you remain that humble,” he let out a thunderous laugh. Bell focused on the 1911 on the men and women walking in zig-zags. But this was not his place to pump in the streets. With his plug belly laughing he felt a sense of security. He cracked a sly grin.

“So after this run, I’ll have seven figures….”

“No, I’ll have the seven. You’ll earn six. You do this again and you’ll have seven.” Montoya stopped laughing and his voice lowered two octaves. With that information, the young man mapped out his routes to take his work to college kids at University of Delaware. He thought about the trail to the suburbs of Newark, Delaware. His whole mind pictured having runners sliding through the corridors and making moves with Jalen and Cindy alike. He felt a rush of dopamine like he was a client. He almost scratched his arm.

“This is it. Once those things transition, we’ll be alright. Nothing but smooth sailing. That’s the idea. The idea of it is so beautiful. When you get them across, you’ll be amazed,” Montoya spoke in a softer tone.

“I’ll make it my business to do the best I can do. If you look at this summer compared to last, I’ve been able to stand on my business….”

“And you’ll do it again. Every time you look at your Rolex, you’ll yearn for the Richard Mille. The collection. You’ll be able to afford it after these runs, I can assure you of that.”

Bell got behind the wheel and started the motor. Montoya walked up to his apartment and reached his door and opened it. He noticed the bulky mobile phone on his dining room table. Oh, he forgot his cell phone, he thought. That was one of the main reasons that I wanted him over here. He retrieved the cell phone but when he came down to Bell, a tap at his window drew his attention. “Alright, Montoya. Let’s make this easy on us both. Turn around with your hands up and we’ll be alright,” Officer Sagely Mills, 30, announced. He had been walking the beat when he noticed the black sticking out like a diamond amongst dust. He noted the rims and looked further at the expiration out of date.

Montoya walked down the stairs. He had been in the system for minor drug offenses like having baggies for the neighborhood clientele. He escaped incarceration with huge stacks of cash to pay lawyers and court costs.

“Alright. Alright.” He abided and walked down the stairs in a slow gait.

Bell remained silent.

“So you’re not going to open the trunk?” Officer Mills, twenty-eight-years-old, with soot-colored skin asked Bell. The dealer just turned his head sharply.

“I get it. Your Miranda rights. Of course. If we find what we think is under that rear hatch, you’re looking at twenty-five to life.”

Mills stood Bell to his feet and he snatched the keys from him.

Montoya walked onto the streets with his hands behind his back. He glanced at Bell. They, though, didn’t look like they’d been pinched. They looked like they had some secret communication between them. Montoya winked.

“You know you can’t open a vehicle without a warrant!” Montoya yelled.

“He’s my warrant. He just consented to a search, didn’t you, boy? His license plate’s expired,” Mills replied. He undid the cold steel of justice wrapped around Bell’s wrists. Bell fished around in his pockets for his keys. The warmth of the summer day caused everyone to bake in heat, perspiration glistening on the three men’s foreheads.

The anticipation built with the temperature. Bell unlocked the trunk. It looked cleaner than an Easter Sunday outfit. Mills slid his hand over the carpeting. Not a single bit of evidence had remained. Nothing. He slammed the trunk.

“It’s another hot one, officer. Can we interest you in water ice?”

“We’re going to have a K-9 unit out here. There won’t be any frozen treats for the both of yous,” Mills declared.

“The offer’s still open….” Montoya called in a sing-song voice. He whipped his pony tail around as he spoke.

Mills radioed the unit. “Yes, we understand that but we’ve got a possible homicide in Southbridge. I’m coming to your location now.”

“Copy,” Mills responded.

“You’re off this time,” Mills addressed the hustlers. “But if we see mucus from your nose, you’re both done.” His tone sounded like acid permeated his mouth. The cruiser pulled away and Montoya and Bell walked towards each other.

Bell grinned devilishly, knowing that he had placed dryer sheets on top of the product. Even if they returned after the murder investigation, that dog wouldn't be able to smell the contents of the trunk. In actuality, the suspension remained but one add-on to the Vigor to handle the weight. Bell had carved out and deepened the rear component.

“I guess your little chariot was good for something,” Montoya smiled. “It seems like the best way to characterize this interaction with Wilmington’s finest is to say we’ve gotta be ready for upcoming battles with the police.”

“Don’t forget about the giant orange men.”

Montoya laughed. “You kids imagine the craziest things. There’re no monsters coming after dealers. I’ve been doing this for as long as you’ve been alive.”

“I’m just saying what I hear on the streets,” Bell mentioned.

“Well, if there are such things, I’ll be glad if I never encounter them,” Montoya lit a cigarillo and passed one to Bell. He lit it himself.

They just looked at the car. “Imagine yourself rolling out in a Bentley….” Montoya suggested.

“I see it. But I want to make sure I have my money right. Like into the WiSE.”

Montoya drew from his cigarillo. “That’s good. I can show you how to get in and get out at the right times. I cut my teeth with stocks when I was younger than you. I must have been fourteen, fifteen. Anyway, you’ve gotta get your plates updated. You can’t be slacking out here with everyone out here trying to take something from us.” He looked around the street as the clientele walked. They didn’t, though, approach Bell or Montoya.

They held close as their firesticks remained one of the few sources of light as the twilight moved in on the Wilmington streets. There was the smell of oil and exhaust that hung in the air like a car shop. They finished their cigarillos and made it possible for them to just breathe after what just happened. Montoya wanted a water ice mango gelato, anyway. Bell followed suit and waited to obtain a coconut flavor iced. The heat didn’t impede them from their glorious journey to new heights of the game.