Phillip Johnson and Dough drove to Newark's Liberty International Airport to pick up Gary. They had gotten through all of the formalities during the course of several lengthy phone conversations. Phillip circled around the airport until he saw Dough and his old partner in crime flagging him down. The police were right behind him, giving out tickets, so Gary hurriedly threw his garment bag onto the backseat and jumped in behind it while Dough jumped in the front. Phillip pulled off.
"Man, what's up with the eye patch?"
"Damn, Phillip, no hello, how was your flight, how's the family?" Gary joked.
"Nigga, I talked to yo' fake, wannabe, pimp ass this morning, two times yesterday, and once before that. How many times you want me to ask the same ole shit? This is a business trip, not a high school reunion," Phillip snapped.
Gary tapped Dough on his shoulder. "What the fuck does my eye patch have to do with business? How do you put up with this control freak? It's always business with him. I guess that's why yo' paper so long, right?" Gary teased.
And you know this, mannnn!" Phillip joked back.
"I'm feelin' this ride, man. A got damn Bentley Continental! This bitch goes up to 195 miles a hour. Damn, nigga! You really have come up. So what was so urgent that you had to see me today? I had other shit to do."
"Nigga, don't try to skip the subject. What happened to your eye? I doubt if it's a fashion statement."
"I got hit in it, man. It's completely damaged. I only have about ten percent vision in it and it's very sensitive to light, even sunlight. So that's why I keep it covered. But it's cool, the bitches still like it."
"I'm sure they do."
"So what's up?"
"Several things. You and I have the same people and issues in common. A nigga and a bitch that's in our way."
Oh, really?" Gary's interest was piqued. "Who?"
"Amp."
"Amp?" To say that Gary was surprised was an understatement.
"Yeah, you heard me right. Small fuckin' world, ain't it?"
"Well, I'll be damned. What? He fuckin' your woman too?"
"No but he's fuckin' with my paper and that's not as bad but worse. He pulled this bitch I signed, and I got major attitude."
"So what does this have to do with me?"
"You owe me a favor, if my memory serves me right. And I'm a very public figure now. I can't be getting my hands dirty."
"I can't get mine dirty either, shit. I'm a pimp, nigga!"
"Yeah, and a broke pimp at that who needs major stacks. 'Cause according to Uncle Steve you only got three hoes and them bitches lookin' for a job."
"Ha, ha, ha. You scary punk muthafucka, you gots to remind me to fuck you up like a broke pimp would do! So watch yo' mouth. Uncle Steve don't know what the fuck I got," Gary snapped.
"Anyway, so what about the favor you owe?" Phillip glared back at him through the rearview mirror.
Gary didn't reply at first. He mumbled under his breath and shot glances at Phillip and Dough. "What the fuck you need done? I know you got niggas to handle your dirty work. What the fuck, P?"
"Man, this is a special job. I don't feel right or see myself giving it to any ole joe blow or else I would have been done it. This is too important. And I can't be linked to this shit in no kinda way. Shit, nigga, you do owe me. What, I gotta throw in sumthin extra? Damn, nigga, what you need? Cash, a coupla birds, what?"
"What you need done, man?" Gary asked reluctantly.
"Can you believe this nigga?" Phillip asked Dough.
"I told you he was going to want sumthin," Dough stated matter-of-factly.
"Well, I'll be damned. You sure called it," Phillip told him.
"Oh, so now y'all niggas gonna just sit there and talk about me like I ain't even here?"
Phillip pulled into JE's, a diner on Halsey Street in Newark. "Let's talk this shit over some grub." He pulled into a parking spot and the three men poured out of the '07 Bentley convertible. He gave Gary a brotherly hug. "Even though you trippin' it's good to see you, man. And it was real good talking to Uncle Steve. That nigga takin' pimpin' and hustlin' to the grave. I bet you, him and Dino still treat yo' ass like a snot-nose punk, don't they?"
Hell yeah. They still getting on my nerves thirty years later."
Dough and Phillip laughed as they made it inside the crowded diner, bypassed the customers in line, placed their orders, and found them a booth.
"You look good, man. So, tell me, where the fuck you been? And how you gonna leave the fabulous East Coast for the dirty South?" Phillip wanted to know.
Dough opened up his case that held his black-'n-milds and lit one before offering a stick.
"No, thanks." Gary waved him off.
The waitress came by to take their orders. As soon as she left, Phillip nodded for him to tell his story.
"After some bitch tried to poison and kill me, I stayed in a hospital in Philly for almost a month. After that my uncle Dino put me on to his hookup in Canada and I was over there for those few years. My physical therapy took damn near a year by itself. I had broken bones in over four spots. By that third year everybody started acting like they missed a nigga. The only time I eased back over here was when they told me where my ho, Nell, was. I had to do to her what the bitch did to me. An eye for an eye."
