PRL Serials

Previously on Old Man Young and the Bronx Avenger,

In Knoxville, TN 

Fire is a family man and his family has lived for many years in a nice house with a high gate all around the perimeter of the property. His money is laundered through several small businesses and his wife and kids have no real concept of the work he does. His wife knows but she pretends not to.

Visitors to his home are greeted by a security guard at the front gate who calls Fire directly to vet them. Shortly after the body of a boy was found with identification showing his nephew’s name, Fire was surprised by a visitor named Smoke, a man he has not spoken with face to face in years. Fire was not yet aware of the dead boy.

Out of sheer curiosity, Fire agreed to talk with Smoke and the man stinks up Fire’s kitchen; he reeked of cigar smoke.

“I’m coming to you like a man. I just want the violence to stop. I’m missing out on money over this beef.”

Fire made a show of spraying air freshener.

“All I’m asking is that you lay off my businesses. I won’t sell no drugs, I make enough money on the ass. I just keep losing outside of Manhattan and it’s hard to believe you not the reason for that.”

Fired laughed. “I could care less about your business. It’s your allegiances you stank ass motherfucka. You know better than I do that ya man Dark is a bitch, and pretty soon, I’m gonna take his place. Everybody in my way is as good as dead. I won’t be working with any of his people, including you.”

“It really ain’t gotta go down like that…”

Fire interrupted him, “First you show up at my house without an invitation, then you accuse me of fuckin with ya money, and now you tellin me how to do my business. I thought you knew me better than that, or you forgot me already? You remember why they call me Fire?”

“Cause you burn shit down, I ain’t forget you man. But you seem to forget that we used to work together. Your beef is with Dark…”

“And you steady working with him. You can’t play both sides. I won’t let you, he might be dumb enough for that but not me.”

This time Smoke laughed. “I’m not asking to work with you. I just want assurances that you not gunning for me.”

“I already told you what was up. I ain’t have nothing to do with that shit in Baltimore, those boys did that on their own. And yo shit is free game as far as I’m concerned.”

“Can I pay you for protection? Or just your word to your people that I’m off limits?”

Fire shrugged. “Used to be, you had security problems you flex your muscles and show people the consequences of fuckin with you. Now bitches just throw money. How much?”

Smoke smiles, “As much as you need. And we should talk about your burn it all to the ground policy if you take out Dark. He got connections you might want to maintain.”

“Some other time and some other place. I don’t want you stinking up my kitchen any longer than you have too.”

This week in Nashville, TN

Fire hates music, especially country music, and it’s torture for him to be in Nashville. He doesn’t hate music really, he hates the idea of the industry and most of the music that it produces because it’s repetitive; the same themes over and over, just repackaged for different audiences and filtered through the egos of self important artist types who think their perspective is something special enough for the world to fawn over. And he thinks that celebrity based on musical acumen is just plain dumb. Why would anyone pay for noise? And why would anyone pay someone else for something they could do themselves or have someone close to them do it more sincerely? He had grown up in a very musical family that created their own music to entertain themselves all the time, and he had been spoiled on the music industry after one of his cousins tried to make it big. She was a talented singer, but no one was interested in her organic sound, and pretty soon, she had morphed into a completely different person in order to fit a mold the industry knew would be successful; of course she had one national hit before she faded into the sea of other hopeful singers with the same story. Fire never understood how any person with a shred of dignity would subject themselves to that scrutiny just for fame and fortune that was easily obtainable in other ways if they just applied the same amount of effort to real work. Like his chosen business, where he gives people what they ache for, what they would sometimes kill for.

Fire is in Nashville to meet with a man about increasing his security in light of the growing tensions with his rival Darker, who is states away but still has the influence to harm him if he wants. The man Fire meets is Stanley and he operates out of a country western bar. If not for the heat outside and the air conditioning inside, he would not have been able to suffer the bar for very long and he waits angrily for the man to see him.

“You Fire?” Stanley asks gruffly and Fire turns from his beer to see the big man dressed like a biker with shades and a bandana on his head.

“That’s me,” he says as the two shake hands and Stanley leads him to a small office in the back.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Stanley says when they sit, “my boys are all white and some of them are kinda racist. We don’t normally get mixed up in conflicts that don’t involve us. But the money you offering is good and I know I can get you good security detail for that amount.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” Fire says, “I figured as much. I need to be a step ahead of my enemy and he know who I normally use for security. I need people he won’t expect, too.”

The men shake again and Fire gives Stanley an envelope stuffed with money. “I’ll have somebody in touch soon to go over specifics.”

Fire leaves the bar and drives back to the hotel where he is staying. He listens to public radio and gets angry at the news stories. The world is a fucked up place, he thinks. All the more reason to finish his plan to get rid of Darker, make sure he was the biggest man in his game so that his family and everyone who depended on him had what they needed.

The next day, he arrives back in Knoxville and he stops at the laundromat he owns where his associates know to look for him when they need to discuss business and his nephew Yuri is already there.

“What the fuck is going on?” Yuri and Fire talk next to machines that are running and an old lady is watching them suspiciously like they are plotting to steal her clothes. Yuri doesn’t notice, he is practically hysterical, but Fire does and it’s humorous to him.

“You hear they found a body with my IDs on him? Somebody is doing something unk, and I don’t understand it.”

Fire is confused. “Your IDs?”

“IDs with my name and the dead dude’s picture.”

“That’s some curious shit. The police already talked to you right? What they say?”

“You know they don’t know shit.”

“Who was the dead dude? You know?” Fire asks.

“Nah. But it ain’t nobody important to us or we would know about it. You think it’s them Bronx niggas?”

Fire sighs and shakes his head. “Must be right? They must be coming for you. I’m upping security though, some biker dudes. They won’t be expecting that. In the mean time, let’s find out what we can, put some people on that. We gotta be in NC next weekend for that deal. Lay low until then.”

“Don’t think I can risk it unk.” Yuri says, sad to disappoint his uncle. “That old ass detective is riding my ass. He looking for anything now.”

“Which detective?” Fire asks.

“Young, the old one.”

“That primetime nigga that shut down them Mexican girls? Ohh, fuck that then. You definitely lay low. Ain’t nothing worse than police trying to keep a reputation.”

The two hug before Fire heads home and in the car he calls a friend.

“Colston, tell me what y’all got on that murder, the dead dude with my nephew’s name. And tell me what we can do about that old man, Young.”