Free Chasers by Lorenzo Carcaterra Page A

stomach for the fight that the brothers and McEntire did. And in that crowd the one with the biggest hunger for blood always walks away with the title.”
    The Gonzalez brothers did the five-borough walk and talked with the other gangs in town, brokering deals that would eventually stem some of the bloodshed, cutting partnerships with the five Italian crime families and the smaller South American crews that were in play. Carlos worked at building up the sale and distribution end of the multi-tiered business, ensuring that a cut of any cocaine or heroin that moved into New York City ended up in the offshore bank accounts of the G-Men. In return, the upstarts offered blanket coverage to all participating members of the organization, turning loose their murder machine on any late arrivals that failed to grasp the rules of the agreement. If a new crew or dealer emerged on the scene, the offer was put out to send a share of the profits down toward the G-Men or risk a penalty fee. The initial cost was the life of a player who was close to the dealer. If that move was either ignored or not acted upon with the required speed, the G-Men took it to the next level. “They were the first New York City gang to reach out and touch someone’s family,” Timmy “Goat” Reynolds, one of the NYPD’s legendary narcotics undercover cops, later said. “Before them, dealers only looked to take out one another. Their families could sleep safe and sound at night. These guys came in and changed all the rules. They did a top-to-bottom wipeout—wife, mother, father, kids, pets. You fucked with them and they left behind a trail of blood Mississippi River thick. That left dealers and their crews with two clear-as-a-sunny-day choices: you either do business the G-Men way or you get the fuck out of Dodge. You could be a hundred a day and on-the-nod deep into drugs, that’s the kind of message that blasts its way through any smoke and haze you toss in its path.”
    “I’ll give you all my money from any deal I make here on,” Walter said, trembling as if he were in the middle of an ice storm. “From this second, I work only for you, fuck anybody else. I’ll bring it in heavy, too—you know you can count on that plain as shit on the street. I’ll be your number-one mover, work my ass off night and day. You’ll see, Carlos, believe it when you hear it. You’ll see.”
    “How can I believe you on that?” Carlos asked, taking several steps away from Walter and putting a light to a thin brown cigar. “An air-sucker like you would lie in front of the fuckin’ Pope if you figured it would help out your angle. So words out of your mouth are like tits on a bull to my ears. Don’t mean shit.”
    “I put it on my honor to you as a man,” Walter said. “No way for me to make it any cleaner than that.”
    “There’s a way,” Carlos said, giving a slow nod, his thin lips pursed in a tight smile. “One that would show me you had the courage and the balls to back up all your words, make me toe-tap my way out of here knowing I had just traded for a stand-up and true team member.”
    “Tell me what it is and I’ll do it without wasting a blink,” Walter said, finally starting to see the emergence of a sliver of light at the end of his barren tunnel.
    “You sure now?” Carlos asked. “You can still back away from your Custer stand, take the fast ride upstate with the ice pick in your neck. Not too late for that. All nice, clean, and easy. This other road that’s open to you—not as quick, not as painless, not as final. You have to live with what happens, you make it your choice to travel down there. Am I coming across clear?”
    “Whatever it is,” Walter said with nervous conviction. “I won’t take a step back. I’m from the barrio, my brother. We born with the hard brand burnt into us.”
    Carlos nodded and tossed his half-smoked cigar against a corner wall, a hard set of eyes glaring down at the sweat-stained dealer, who was