Oscar Alcazar was starting to get on Marcus Manuel's nerves. The Washington Heights projects were his territory, and he was damned if Alcazar was going to take it from him. The brick through his window, the near car accident... Manuel was confident that one of those should have been enough to let Alcazar know who was boss around here, but every night Manuel still saw the "Open" sign flip to "Special: New York Strip" and his blood boiled. Drastic measures were in order: Alcazar had to be put in his place.
The next morning, a cocky little boy of 10 knocked on the door of Oscar's Meat with a note in his hand. Oscar answered the door and was immediately suspicious. It was nine o'clock and he knew that boys this age liked to sleep in on weekends. The young man handed him the note, and without a word went on his way. Oscar opened the crumpled sheet of paper and read: "You're too close. Get your nose out of places it does not belong." He gasped as a finger fell out of the note. He now knew how serious Manuel was about the territory. But he had an idea how to settle the problem.
Manuel was in the shower as he heard a knock on the door of Apartment 215. Irritated that some junkie would have the nerve to come to his door begging for another day to get the money, Manuel slowly got out of the shower, dressed, and came to the door as the knocking persisted. He opened the door and was immediately tackled to the ground by a huge man. Somehow, even after all of the times spent running from the Colombian police, or getting out of the house just as a rival drug lord was about to shoot up the place, this was the first time he ever felt a real sense of fear. The huge man had a gun and was shouting in a familiar Spanish dialect, the dialect of his home country of Colombia. Manuel was thrown against the wall of his shoddy apartment, and his Gucci shades flew into the next room. "Don't try to intimidate me with your crap!" the huge man roared into his ear. "You wanna mess with me I got folks back home that'll mess you up!" Manuel, over his initial shock, realized the man was Alcazar. "Wait, wait!" Manuel pleaded as Alcazar pushed the barrel of the gun against the side of his head. "I'm sorry about the letter, but I know what can be done to benefit both of us. Instead of fighting... we need to combine out resources and create an unstoppable force." "Why should I believe you?" replied a quickly subdued Alcazar. "Because," Manuel responded, "I know of a way the two of us can get rich quick. Plus what reason do I have to get rid of you... if you can make me money. What do you say?" Manuel rose, no longer in fear of the nearly 400 pound man with a gun before him. and extended his arm. "Ok," said Alcazar, "but I swear to God if you screw me, you'll be dead before you even know it." "Oh, I would never even think of it." Alcazar left the apartment and Manuel brushed off his dirty clothes. "That idiot. He has no idea what he's getting himself into. I'll have my money and he'll be dead within the week."
Manuel smiled. The next few days were going to be a lot of fun.
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Oscar Alcazar
The place was packed. Without the back room, his butchery wouldn't be in business. But was it worth the drama? The fights, the arguments, the deals, the tension ... Oscar chuckled. He knew the answer. Yes. It was worth every penny.
He thought back to that afternoon, when little Slick had popped in. Oscar had slipped him a few bills for something or other. It didn't really matter. Slick was a good guy. That's how things worked to Oscar. The key word was reputation. If you did good, and didn't do nothing stupid, Oscar had your back, as long as you drop in every now and then. You do Oscar a favor, he does you one. Simple, really.
He stepped out front for some fresh air, catching Mrs. Floggsbottom's eye as she trundled past. He liked her. She was quirky. Amusing. Coming the other direction was Grandma Pearl, "or Miss Pearlie to you," she would tell him. Pearl bought a week's supply of kosher meat every weekend. She was one of his most loyal customers. She even gambled a bit, "when she was feelin' frisky."
As Oscar turned to squeeze back through the door, he glanced at his shattered window. The glass itself was no biggie. He'd have Alexander fix it up. The boy needed a job. The story behind it was the real problem. It was another threat from Manuel, the pitiful crack dealer across the street. He thought his Columbian heritage earned him status in the community. Oscar knew the real meaning of status. Status was being a man, being honest, being forthright. Status meant no severed fingers on doorsteps. Manuel had a lot to learn. Oh well, Oscar thought. He wished their Columbian connection could make them brothers, not enemies. But if Manuel wanted a war, he'd get one. Oscar had Machelli on his side. They'd been exchanging favors for years.
Back inside, Oscar's grubby fingers tossed a few slices of roast beef back into the fridge. Damn, that was from Marissa's morning sandwich. He had to stop leaving food out. He chucked the slices out onto the sidewalk. A bird would get them.
The freezer's chill nursed his grimy skin as he brushed past a dangling pig carcass. There was commotion in the back room. Nothing new there. Not too long ago a bounty hunter had chased his man out the front door. And before that, a nice woman by the name of Elizabeth had completely decked a guy. The fun just didn't stop.
At 3:30 Oscar closed up shop, courteously moving his guests toward the door. He'd count their money in the morning. A big guy needs his shuteye. The Kosher Carriers truck was scheduled for 7:30 in the morning.
George Jefferson - The Battle
Jefferson stood on the rooftop of Washington Heights. It was raining heavily. Lightening flashed in the distance. Jefferson had been watching Oscar's for about a week now-it hadn't stopped raining since then. It had paid off though. It seemed like every criminal in the city hung out there, to join in on the illegal gambling that took place in the back. Tonight, Jefferson thought, he would strike at the heart of this criminal enterprise. Tonight he would announce officially to the criminal underworld that he was here. He surveyed the area. Clio Ford was closing up her flower shop and walking across the street, obviously quite irritated by the rain. Jefferson waited until she had entered the building. He climbed down the fire escape. More lightening in the distance; it was getting closer.
Jefferson pulled his mask over his head and shivered - the rain was very cold. He looked across the street. It was deserted. He darted out into the open and ran behind Oscar's shop. He could barely hear the sound of the activity inside over the pounding rain. Jefferson climbed on top of a dilapidated dumpster, then pulled himself up on the roof of the building. There was a little skylight in the middle of the roof - a nice touch, thought Jefferson. A little too nice for a butcher's shop. He peered down into the illegal casino. It was full of people. He recognized a few. There was Machelli, of course, surrounded by his goons. Jefferson would have to take him out first; fortunately he was just below the skylight. There was Marcus Manuel, the small time drug dealer; there was Grandma Pearl; Elizabeth Farraday was there, yelling at some guy; Lola Fontaine, dressed like a stripper; Oscar himself, of course; and others from around the neighborhood. Jefferson had unsheathed his sword and was prepared to strike, when he felt something cold and sharp on his neck.
Jefferson turned around abruptly and held up his sword. Lightening flashed, and the figure of Holger Vollsunger appeared. "I know you," Jefferson said. "You're the guy who owns that gas station down the street."
"I know you as well," Holger said. "I know that fighting you is the only way I can gain the honor of my ancestors and clean up this dirthole of a town."
"We both want the same thing," Jefferson said. "We should be working together. We shouldn't be fighting!"
"No," said Holger, ominously. "this is the only way. Defend yourself, George Jefferson, and defend your honor!"
Holger slashed at Jefferson with his huge, serrated sword. Jefferson knew if that thing hit him it would hurt, a lot. Jefferson blocked with his own sword; the two swords collided with a loud clang as lightening flashed and thunder rumbled across the city. Maybe my sword is real after all, thought Jefferson. The two sparred and parried across Oscar's roof. Jefferson had been practicing in his spare time, but Holger was still more skilled and larger. Jefferson was on the defensive as Holger swung wildly. The pounding rain only made his job more difficult. Jefferson was blocking every one of Holger's massive blows, but he was being pushed to the edge of the roof. It's time to change the game, thought Jefferson. He ducked Holger's blade and tackled him to the ground. The two warriors rolled across the roof. Holger got up a split-second faster than Jefferson, and Jefferson only had enough time to just barely block his blow; neither of them had noticed that Oscar's skylight was just behind them. They both lost their balance and fell through.
They landed on a roulette table, breaking it in two and sending chips everywhere. Lola Fontaine screamed. Jefferson stood up with a groan, and picked up his sword. Suddenly, Holger came out of nowhere and swung at Jefferson, narrowly missing him and cleaving another table in two. People began running and screaming. Jefferson was dodging Holger's massive blade. It missed him again and almost became stuck in one unlucky soul, who Jefferson only knew as "Lowride." "What is it with these freaks with swords? Kill them!" yelled Machelli. Gunshots filled the air as Jefferson leaped behind an overturned table. I've got to get out of here, he thought. He picked up a roullette ball on the floor and threw it at a light switch. The lights went out and more people screamed and ran out of the building. Jefferson kicked down the back door and fled into the night.
He ran across the street, breathing heavily. The police had just arrived, thankfully. Maybe some good would come from this after all. Still, Jefferson thought, he would once again have to be more careful. Basic criminals he could deal with, but he hadn't expected anything like Holger. Fortunately, Holger at least had a sense of honor, sort of; Jefferson wouldn't have to worry about him killing him in his sleep, or anything like that. Of course, he would probably have to face him again. Next time, though, Jefferson would be more prepared. He sheathed his sword and climbed up the fire escape.
The rain continued to fall.
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