FAT SAM WAS PICKING UP breakfast, when Bishop’s office door swung open and almost tore from its hinges. Rollo Watkins walked into the room, flanked by two men in suits that looked painted on. Bishop sprang up from his desk chair.
Rollo held up his hand. “Don’t get up, Bishop,” he said. “This won’t take long.” Bishop sat back down and Rollo took a chair across from the desk. His two men stood by the door, their right thumbs tucked into their belts, providing quick access to anything under their jackets.
Bishop crossed his legs. “Had I known you were coming, I’d have ordered breakfast,” he said. “You want a drink or something?”
“Nah, we’re good.”
“So what brings you by?” Bishop motioned to the brown leather duffle bag near his office safe. “Sam was going to deliver your money this afternoon, like usual.”
“I thought I’d save him the trip and pick it up myself,” said Rollo. “Plus I have a little business to discuss.”
“What kind of business is that?”
“Our little lunch meeting the other day got me thinking. I really don’t know much about what you’re doing here, Bishop. I know that you’re running a little black market of sorts, but I don’t know the extent of your inventory, who you sell it to or where you get the information you’re selling. Before, I was happy just getting a bag of money from you every Friday, but then you offer to buy me out and I start thinking maybe there’s something I don’t know about. Maybe you’re doing better than you’re leading on.”
Bishop started to speak, but Rollo cut him off.
“You see, me ... I’m old school. I grew up in Over the Rhine, running numbers and pushing powder on the street corner. But all this technology shit. Stealing credit card numbers and peoples’ identities. That’s all new to me. But I see the potential, so if this is the new wave of what we’re peddling, so be it. But I’m a bit worried, Bishop. I think you’re not telling me something.”
“Worried?” Bishop chuckled as he wiped his brow. “What do you have to be worried about, Rollo? Everything’s fine here. We’re making good money.”
Rollo stood and walked to the bookcase adjacent to Bishop’s desk. “Yeah, I know about the scratch. That’s not what I’m worried about. Problem is, I’m feeling disconnected, that’s all.” He ran a thin index finger across the book spines until it found the side of a photo frame. He inched the frame until it teetered on the shelf’s edge, about to tumble to the floor. “What I’m saying is if something were to happen to you, I’d be up shit creek.”
Bishop uncrossed his legs. “What do you mean, ‘happen to me’?”
“Relax, Bishop, that’s not what I’m saying.” Rollo gave the photo frame a final push with his finger, sending it over the edge of the bookshelf. He caught it with his right hand and set it back in its place. “I’m just saying if I had to take things over sometime down the line, I’d have no idea where to start. I’d be in the dark. You been running this thing for over a year, and I don’t understand it no better than I did when you first contacted me.”
Bishop was silent.
“You know, I can tell you how much cocaine and meth we moved on the West side last month, and I can tell you how many guns we sold downtown last week. I even know how many cocks each of our whores sucked yesterday. But I can’t tell you shit about your network. That’s what worries me.”
Bishop shifted in his seat. “You want some type of report or something? Like a business review? I can give you whatever you need.”
“Here’s what I want,” Rollo walked over and leaned on Bishop’s desk, his elbows locked. “I’m bringing a man in. Hickman. You might know him. He’s gonna start overseeing things here. Think of him as a middleman between you and me. He’ll get me the information I need when I need it. That way, I know what the fuck is happening around here.”
Bishop stood up. “Rollo, that’s not necessary, I can get—”
“Sit down, Bishop,” said Rollo, his arms still locked on the desk.
Bishop kept his eyes on Rollo as he reached back and fumbled for the chair’s arm. He found it, slid it forward and sat back down.
“You don’t need to bring anyone in from the outside,” said Bishop. “I work much better when I have autonomy, when there’s no one looking over my shoulder. I know how to run this business. The numbers show that.”
“Look, Bishop. The numbers are great and I know you’re the guy to run things. I’m not questioning that. Your cut won’t change. I just want to have a better understanding of how things operate. And Hickman isn’t an outside guy. He’s run my West-side operation for years. He’s real smart and he’s into computers and shit. Just like you.”
“And you’ve already talked to him about this?” said Bishop.
Rollo took his hands off the desk and stood up straight. “Yeah, it’s a done deal. He’s really excited to get to know you and learn everything about your business. He’ll be checking in with you next week, and you guys can work something out.”
Rollo took a few steps toward the door and then turned back to Bishop. “Let me be clear on this. I want Hickman to know everything you know. Everything. Got it?”
“I got it,” said Bishop.
Rollo pointed to the leather duffle on the floor. “That mine?”
“Yes,” said Bishop, handing the bag to Rollo.
Rollo passed the bag to one of his men. “Thanks. We’ll let ourselves out.”
Rollo and his men headed for the doorway. Bishop reached for one of his desk drawers, but pulled his hand back when Rollo stopped and turned around again.
“I guess I should thank you for bringing all this to my attention,” said Rollo.
“What do you mean?”
“If you hadn’t made that offer to buy me out the other day, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But we did have that conversation, and now we’re having this one.”
“Right,” said Bishop.
Rollo extended a hitchhiker’s thumb and motioned to the duffle bag in his man’s hand. “I’ll see your fat friend next week then. Same time as usual.”
“Same time as usual,” said Bishop.
Rollo winked at Bishop, and he and his men walked out into the hall. Bishop listened to the men’s footsteps as they made their way down the hardwood hallway and then down the stairs. He waited for the sound of the front door closing before picking up his phone.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, FAT SAM walked through Bishop’s office doorway. “I got your message. What’s up?” he said setting two Styrofoam food containers on Bishop’s desk.
“Rollo just left. He’s bringing in Hickman to keep an eye on us, to learn the business. And eventually take it over.”
Fat Sam opened his breakfast. “He said that? That Hickman was taking over?”
Bishop pushed his breakfast to the side of his desk. “Didn’t have to,” he said. “It was clear enough.”
Fat Sam shoveled a heap of scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Hickman? The West-side guy?” he said. “That’s not good.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to move faster than we thought. Let’s get everyone together and get to it.”
“I’ll make the calls,” said Fat Sam between bites.
“And we’re going to have to ramp up recruiting,” said Bishop. “Put on your human resources hat and get some new blood in here. I need someone good and reliable.”
“There’s two guys in Lexington I know. Might be a good fit.”
“Bring them in.”
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