Chapter Six“So you're inside, huh? Are you comfortable?”
“No complaints.”
Shea Tyrone and Karl Hoecker sat in a rear booth at Manitoba's Bar on Avenue B, an old school punk lounge that was as far from the world of East Harlem as they could get. Bunn Cromartie was as cool as they came, slouching in the booth across from them, idly stirring his margarita. He would be the character in a Fifties gangster movie, spitting at the guards on his way to the electric chair.
“What's it looking like? Have you met Turbo yet? Have you met any of his top guys?”
“s**t, man, I just been in the crew a couple of days. He got about fifty guys in line. Right now I'm talking to Spade. Each one of his lieutenants go by a code name, after a suit of cards. He got it set up like an army platoon, from what I can
