A young man wearing a bloodstained apron came from the back of the shop, carrying a tray of center-cut pork chops. Guillermo told Frank he’d recently hired the man because he needed someone to assist him in butchering large cuts of meat after he’d strained his back lifting a whole hog.
Several bells jangled when the door opened, and a man walked in and stood at the counter. In a motion almost too quick for the eye to follow, Guillermo’s assistant handed the man something, and in exchange, he pocketed what Frank knew was money.
Moving quickly, Frank stood with his back to the door, preventing any escape. “What’s in the hand!” he demanded in a dangerously soft voice.
The man, who looked barely out of his teens, shoved his hand in the pocket of his jeans. “Nothing, man.”
Frank, at six-two, was a full head taller and weighed at least forty pounds more than the man who’d just lied to him. “If you don’t take your hand out of your pocket, I’m going to have Mr. Guillermo call the police, but that’s after I beat the shit out of you and then tell them you tried to rob the store. As they say, the ball is in your court. You can decide what is best for you. Now!” he shouted.
The man obeyed and held out his hand with a glassine packet Frank knew contained heroin. He didn’t want to believe Guillermo had hired someone who was selling drugs in the shop. He stepped aside and opened the door. “Get the hell out of here and never come back.” Waiting until the junkie disappeared, Frank glared at the man behind the counter, whose eyes were now big as saucers, while all of the color had left his face, leaving it a ghostly white.“You, in the back!”he ordered.Please, Lord, don’t let me murder this man with my bare hands, he prayed as he walked around the showcase and opened the door to the walk-in freezer.
Once the door closed behind them, he grabbed the front of the man’s apron and shook him like a large dog would a chihuahua. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing dealing drugs in my cousin’s shop?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it belonged to your family.”
Frank couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You thought it would’ve been okay if it didn’t belong to my family?”
“I … I didn’t mean it like that,” he sputtered.
“Do you know what folks in some Middle East countries do when they find someone stealing?”
The younger man shook his head.
“They cut off his hand. And if he’s found to be a liar, then they cut out his tongue. You’ve done both. My cousin gaveyou a job, and you stole from him by selling drugs rather than meat. And there’s no doubt you lied to get this job because he was old and wouldn’t pay attention to what you were doing. But it ends today. Where do you hide your drugs?”
“It’s … it is on the top shelf in my locker.”
Frank cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to believe the butcher shop had become a stash house for a dealer. “Who did you buy the shit from?”
“I have contacts with some of Bumpy Johnson’s people over in Harlem.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“A hundred dollars?”
“Do you owe them any money?” Frank asked. The man shook his head. Frank smiled, the gesture more sinister than benevolent. “And because I’m in a good mood today, I’m going to flush your drugs down the toilet and give you what you paid for them. I want you to answer one more question for me and that is, why have you become a drug dealer?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t make enough working here because the landlord who owns the building where I live just raised my rent. Me, my wife, and two kids live in a studio apartment, and the greedy bastard decided to raise my rent from twenty dollars a week to thirty because I don’t have a lease. I’m dealing to save enough money to move into a place with at least one bedroom.”
Frank’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “How much more do you need to cover the increase?”
“Forty dollars a month.”
“I’ll have Guillermo give you a ten dollar a week raise to cover the increase. You should be glad you caught me on a day when I’m feeling compassionate; otherwise, your wife would be putting flowers on your grave.”
“Are you going to fire me?”
“No, because Guillermo needs you, and it’s not easy finding a good butcher. My brother will be taking over the shopthis summer, and I want to warn you that if he’d known you were dealing drugs, he would cut your heart out while you were still breathing, then sit on your body to eat his lunch. What’s your name and where do you live?” The man told him what he wanted to know. Frank nodded. “Now go and get your stash.”
Frank took out a money clip from his pocket and counted out one hundred dollars, as he watched Guillermo’s assistant open a locker and remove a paper bag from the top shelf. There was a time when Guillermo had so many assistants that Frank couldn’t keep up with their names. Most were unable to deal with Guillermo’s grumpy personality and, on occasion, quick temper. Most of his customers ignored his irritability because he’d earned the reputation of selling the best meat in East Harlem.
Frank gave him the money he’d paid for the drugs, took the paper bag into the small bathroom, opened three glassine packets, and emptied the white powder into the toilet, flushed it, and then washed and dried his hands. He knew a lot of money could be made selling drugs, but it was something Frank refused to contemplate, because it was the poison that had cost his sister her life.
By the time he returned to the front of the shop, Guillermo had completed his order and was waiting on two women. He whispered in his cousin’s ear that he had straightened out his assistant and that he should increase his salary to ten dollars a week. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said loud enough for the customers to hear. Reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he left two large bills on the counter next to the cash register.
“Addio cugino,”he said, picking up the paper sack with his meat order.
“Addio,”Guillermo repeated, smiling.
