The Lotus Crew Read Online Free PDF Page A

down. Dinero fanned out o’ j’loose j’turn! Cop’n split! Don’ run!”
    Alvira fanned out tens like a poker hand. When it was their turn the door worker tried to break them up. “We’re buyin’ together, B,” he told the man, slipping him a deuce.
    â€œCool.”
    The apartment windows were caked with dirt or lined with ripped paper. Two flickering candles provided the only light. As Alvira approached the bagman he became aware of another crew worker. The apartment had a foyer off the main room, and in it sat a huge honcho with what looked like an Uzi draped across his lap. The candles flickered, and soon all Alvira could see was the glow of the man’s cigarette.
    â€œGimme six,” Alvira said, passing the fanned-out bills to the bagman.
    â€œFive! J’payin’ f five,” the bagman said, almost looking up over the rim of his hat, catching himself before he made eye contact.
    â€œGimme six f’five, baby. Don’t I get a play when I score half a bundle?”
    The bagman’s teeth glinted in the dark as he smirked at the dumb blanco. “Where you been, poppa? No mo’ play no way. Buy nine hundred ninety-nine bags, I gib j’one free.”
    â€œDamn, you people used to give me a nice play back—”
    â€œNobody git no play. It’s better shit. Cos’ more t’operate. I yus’ a workin’ man, poppa. M’boss say no play. Now split. I gotta keep thee line movin’.”
    â€œSure,” Alvira said as he closed his fist around the half-bundle, turned, and marched indignantly out the door.
    There was a shooting gallery on the floor below, and on their way down someone asked if they wanted to get off. Three bucks if they had their own works. Otherwise six. It was a hard sell. The man said his friend inside could hit so professional there’d be no marks.
    â€œO’ how’z ’bout a jugular hit, m’man?”
    â€œThanks. We pass.”
    â€œYou know, sometimes they raze one of these buildings and find corpses stuffed all over the fuckin’ place,” T said. “In the basements, apartments, just about anywhere.”
    â€œMakes sense. That jugular dude must make a fortune with skills like that.”
    â€œAlvira, this scene is too frantic for the likes of me, but this is where the real money is. I mean, you can set up as a house connection, and if you’re lucky and establish the right clientele you’ll sporadically make out. You know, middle-class customers always cleaning up on you when you’re holding. But the street spells infinite demand and limited supply. It’s nothing for a good crew to turn eighty grand a day. LaTuna is sold out before the sun goes down. They start the morning heavy and sell out before the noon drop. The afternoon stuff is gone by seven or eight.”
    â€œWhat about Green Tape?”
    â€œGoes all night. Also Black Mark. Twenty-four hours of goodness. That whole corner is non-stop no matter what. If they run out of one there’s the other. Run out of both, they just tell you to wait or walk around and come back. That’s bad because customers accumulate and make the vendadors nervous. The heat knows what’s happenin’ when they see a swarm of floating blanco flotsam hanging around. So the crew workers don’t like the wait any more than the customers. They try to facilitate fluid in-and-out traffic. If they’re well organized there’s an extra stashman to pick up the next batch while the bagman works what he’s got. I know one of the bosses, a guy named Chu. He was just fired from LaTuna. Chu’s Dominican, and the Puerto Ricans in LaTuna gave him a hard time. He’s the dude who’s going to take us to the ShyWun. The crew leaders are supplied by the owners, who are supplied by the Cuban mobs and others. Lots of independents these days. Run it a week, get rich, cool out. Longer action requires