one topic that he didn’t like dwelling on. “Still not a hundred percent, but it’s better than it used to be. I’m still hoping some team needs a run-stuffing linebacker and gives me a look in camp. But I don’t know. It’s getting kind of late.”
“Well, they’d be crazy not to take you, Levon. You’re as fierce as they come.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. So, wazzup? Why the call out of the blue? Are you coming to New Orleans? I got a big-ass house. I can hook you up with a room. Won’t charge you much, neither,” he joked.
Payne wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find out from Greene, but he figured the only way to learn anything was to be up-front with the man. “Actually, Levon, the reason I called is an important one. You know how I told you I was doing fine?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I lied. Something’s going on up here, and I was hoping you could give me a hand.”
“I don’t loan people money, man. You’re gonna have to ask someone else.”
Payne grinned. If Greene knew how much money Payne actually had, Levon might be asking him for a loan. “No, it’s not about cash. Nothing like that. I promise.”
“What is it then? What’s the deal?”
Payne exhaled, trying not to think about Ariane. “I was hoping to get some information about a gang that might be operating in Louisiana, and I figured since you play a lot of street ball, you might be able to find something out on the courts.”
“Is that all you need? Shit! No problem, man. What’s the name of the posse?”
“Actually, that’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”
“All right, but you gotta give me something to go on, ’cause there’s a lot of motherfuckin’ gangs down here. And every day a new crew pops up.”
“Damn,” Payne mumbled. He had been naively hoping that New Orleans was a one-gang town. “Do any of the gangs have Holotats? You know, tattooed gang emblems on their wrists?”
“Hell, yeah. A lot of crews do. Just tell me what it looks like, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“The letter P , with a bloody knife sticking out of it.”
Greene thought about the information for a moment, then responded. “Off the top of my head, there’s nothing I can think of. But if you give me some time, I can ask around. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“That sounds great,” Payne replied. “And I’d really appreciate anything you can come up with. It’s a matter of life or death.”
“Give me an hour, and I’ll give you a buzz at this number. I know a couple of brothers that know about this type of shit. Let me get ahold of them, then I’ll get ahold of you.”
“Levon, thank you! I’ll be awaiting your call.”
Jones, who’d overheard the entire conversation, questioned Payne the minute he hung up the phone. “So, he’s going to hook you up?”
“He’s going to try.”
“And what if he does? What are you gonna do?”
Payne smiled as he put his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “How does Fourth of July in New Orleans sound to you?”
CHAPTER 15
The Kotto Distribution Center
Ibadan, Nigeria
(56 miles northeast of Lagos)
MOST aspects of the sprawling complex were recognized as legitimate. Hundreds of Nigerian-born workers came to the center each day to unload massive shipments of cacao, palm oil, peanuts, and rubber that had been brought in from Hannibal Kotto’s various businesses. Because of these ventures and the numerous employment opportunities that he offered, Kotto’s name was known and respected throughout Africa.
And it was this respect that allowed him to take advantage of the system.
As he sat behind his mahogany desk, Kotto waited for his assistant to give him the go-ahead to start the conference call. When the woman nodded, Kotto knew that everybody was ready.
“Gentlemen,” he said into the speakerphone, “I realize that
“Well, they’d be crazy not to take you, Levon. You’re as fierce as they come.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. So, wazzup? Why the call out of the blue? Are you coming to New Orleans? I got a big-ass house. I can hook you up with a room. Won’t charge you much, neither,” he joked.
Payne wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find out from Greene, but he figured the only way to learn anything was to be up-front with the man. “Actually, Levon, the reason I called is an important one. You know how I told you I was doing fine?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I lied. Something’s going on up here, and I was hoping you could give me a hand.”
“I don’t loan people money, man. You’re gonna have to ask someone else.”
Payne grinned. If Greene knew how much money Payne actually had, Levon might be asking him for a loan. “No, it’s not about cash. Nothing like that. I promise.”
“What is it then? What’s the deal?”
Payne exhaled, trying not to think about Ariane. “I was hoping to get some information about a gang that might be operating in Louisiana, and I figured since you play a lot of street ball, you might be able to find something out on the courts.”
“Is that all you need? Shit! No problem, man. What’s the name of the posse?”
“Actually, that’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”
“All right, but you gotta give me something to go on, ’cause there’s a lot of motherfuckin’ gangs down here. And every day a new crew pops up.”
“Damn,” Payne mumbled. He had been naively hoping that New Orleans was a one-gang town. “Do any of the gangs have Holotats? You know, tattooed gang emblems on their wrists?”
“Hell, yeah. A lot of crews do. Just tell me what it looks like, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“The letter P , with a bloody knife sticking out of it.”
Greene thought about the information for a moment, then responded. “Off the top of my head, there’s nothing I can think of. But if you give me some time, I can ask around. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“That sounds great,” Payne replied. “And I’d really appreciate anything you can come up with. It’s a matter of life or death.”
“Give me an hour, and I’ll give you a buzz at this number. I know a couple of brothers that know about this type of shit. Let me get ahold of them, then I’ll get ahold of you.”
“Levon, thank you! I’ll be awaiting your call.”
Jones, who’d overheard the entire conversation, questioned Payne the minute he hung up the phone. “So, he’s going to hook you up?”
“He’s going to try.”
“And what if he does? What are you gonna do?”
Payne smiled as he put his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “How does Fourth of July in New Orleans sound to you?”
CHAPTER 15
The Kotto Distribution Center
Ibadan, Nigeria
(56 miles northeast of Lagos)
MOST aspects of the sprawling complex were recognized as legitimate. Hundreds of Nigerian-born workers came to the center each day to unload massive shipments of cacao, palm oil, peanuts, and rubber that had been brought in from Hannibal Kotto’s various businesses. Because of these ventures and the numerous employment opportunities that he offered, Kotto’s name was known and respected throughout Africa.
And it was this respect that allowed him to take advantage of the system.
As he sat behind his mahogany desk, Kotto waited for his assistant to give him the go-ahead to start the conference call. When the woman nodded, Kotto knew that everybody was ready.
“Gentlemen,” he said into the speakerphone, “I realize that
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