But before the high rise complex had been built, it had been Willets Point, a place known for its auto repair shops, scrap yards, waste processing sites, and similar small businesses that consisted of people all trying any way they could to make a dollar. It was a place where junkies slept in broken, rusting cars and only came out at night. It was a place where the smell of garbage had once been a scent people became used to. And where sights like a van’s back doors being held together by three rolls of duct tape was considered the norm. Where graffiti on the walls and burnt out cars became the only flashes of colour in this typically grey part of the world.
But like I said, a world that no longer existed thanks to the city finally intervening. However, this merely meant that a lot more Chop shops ended up opening around different areas of the city, as stealing cars and stripping them down for parts was still a business many didn’t feel like giving up on. Which was where Wendy’s contact came in.
See, after he had followed the wastelands of the Iron Triangle, he had ended up meeting quite a few people and only one name continued to pop up among the drunken chatter of small shop owners during that time. He was the one who dealt with the more, should we say, wealthy side of things, and movies like Gone in 60 Seconds became the documentary of life for this gangster.
They called him Big B, which from what I gathered could mean anything from boss, boulder, berserker and bone breaker. In other words, he was known as a ruthless, hard bastard that took no shit and was one scary motherfucker. This being the word on the street.
Big B was also the one who dealt with cars that weren’t easy to come by or easy to steal for that matter, as it wasn’t as if you could just jimmy a window of a Ferrari and hot wire one. Meaning that he had a syndicate of experienced and highly talented thieves working for him. He was also the one who had them stolen and on a container heading off to his clients before the owner even knew their prized possession had even been stolen.
He was in the big leagues.
And, as insane as it was, he was exactly who I needed right now.
So, I arranged to meet her contact, a guy called Micky and was just pulling up to Central Avenue after Wendy had arranged the meeting place. And well, seeing as I was the one currently sat in a Ferrari, then I wasn’t exactly hard to spot. Which meant the second some skinny white guy with a baseball cap and a hood over the top approached my door and knocked on the window, I lowered it and asked,
“You Micky?”
“Bitch, I will be whoever the fuck you want me to be, now get the fuck outta the car!” he said pulling out a gun and pointing it at me through the window. It was at this point that I rubbed the top of my nose in frustration and said,
“I guess that’s how you people say hi in New York then, huh?” He snapped,
“Bitch you fucking wacked or…AAHHH!” This ended in a scream of pain the second I grabbed his wrist and bent it back on itself making him drop the gun in my lap.
“Tut, tut, Micky, you don’t think I would be stupid enough to drive my nice expensive car around here if I couldn’t take care of myself, now would you?”
“Bitch, my name ain’t…Ahhh, okay, okay.” I cut him off by applying some more of that handy, agonizing pressure before giving him some advice,
“Tip for you Micky, never start off an answer with Bitch, especially if that bitch in question is the one who’s had a bad fucking day and might just snap your wrist for the sheer fucking fun of it…now let’s start again should we?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay cool…shit Bitc…I mean lady, you got it!” he said quickly singing a different tune and wincing through the pain I caused.
“Good, now there is a place I am looking for around here that is owned by a guy known as Big B and well, seeing as you were intent on stealing my car, I will assume you know who I am talking about and where it is.”
“Nah, nah, I was just gonna take it for a spin is all.” I flattened my lips and cleared my throat before bending his wrist back a little more and making him scream again.
“Let’s try that once again, should we Micky?” I said in a calm tone that was the total opposite to his. His fearful eyes scanned left and right making me add,
“Okay, let me put it this way, just how many cars do you hope to jack after I have broken your arm in three places…huh?” I asked adding even more pressure at the end to make my point and making him scream out louder this time.
“AHHH, Fuck! Fuck, Jesus Christ! Okay, okay, shit yeah it’s over on Washington Avenue, just a couple streets down!”
“And this fine establishment, what does it look like?” I asked next and this time, he didn’t hold back.
“Two double doors, blue, windows above…fuck oww, okay, just ease up, it looks like a shithole but it’s a front,” he said and like they say in the movies, he was singing like a canary.
“That’s good. Right, now here is what’s gonna happen. I am going to let you go, and I want you to remember that I have your gun, so no funny shit, Micky,” I warned making him nod fast, obviously desperate for me to let him go and relieve the pain I knew my hold on him had inflicted. So, I picked up his gun with my free hand and pointed it at him making him back up the second I let go.
Then I opened the car door which shot up into the sky just like on a Lambo, giving it the appearance as if it had wings. After this I unfolded myself from the car and kept the gun on him, which was when he started to get braver, putting more space between us as he told me,
“Bitch, the joke is on you! Fucking wacked piece of shit…and my name isn’t fucking Micky!” he said as he started running off, trying to get away from me as quickly as he could, cradling his abused wrist to his chest.
“I know, asshole,” I muttered just as another car pulled up and from the looks of the family man saloon, it was safe to say that this was the real Micky. Mr family man got out of the car dressed like he had just thrown on whatever was to hand first, as the milky stain on his shoulder told me that it was more than likely he had a newborn at home. The stick family stickers on the car’s window also told me he had three other children and a wife at home that was mostly likely wondering what her husband was doing leaving in the middle of the night. But then he had a kind, honest face with tired eyes that told me he needed at least five more hours of sleep at night. This also told me that the favour he owed Wendy must have been a big one.
“Wow, so Wendy wasn’t kidding…hey, nice to meet you, I’m…”
“Micky, yeah… I know,” I said but then he spotted the gun and lifted his hands and looked freaked.
“Shit, whoa…okay, not sure what you are…” I quickly cut him off and said,
“Oh this, ah don’t worry, I just pulled it off some punk who tried to steal my car, that was also my first indication that I was in the right place…although, I have to confess, I have no clue whether this thing is even loaded or not. The last gun I fired ended up being…well, should we say, under slightly unusual circumstances and let’s leave it at that.” He gave me a wary look, obviously wondering why his now ‘not so good friend Wendy’ had missed out the part where I was clearly bat shit crazy. Which I wasn’t, I was just stepping firmly into the pissed off, woman scorned stage of a breakup.