"That thing that went down with Eddie"

Mr. Olodumare in “That thing that went down with Eddie.”

As Saturdays go it was a Sunny one. Or so the Fates indicated in the wind. Mr. Olodumare strode briskly through Brooklyn, Flatbush Extension to be exact. His destination, a rendezvous with the highly sought after head of the Black Scorpion Corps, a pro-government militia with interests in the meat industry.

“This is one of those stories for which a context is never reasonable.”
“We believe this to explain relativity in the African context.”
“Can it be put to Yoruba theater?”
“Scientifically.”

So what’s the story? Well, we have seven elite members of society, quiet African-American men, each with a haunting-haunted look in his eye. One might be a somewhat reluctant yet excellent parent. Another might be involved in the new community center, even given a certificate recently for his outstanding achievements in recruiting youth in positive directions. Another is a quiet socialite who visits the tavern on Friday, the least rancorous of the rancorous, but a man whose quiet commands quiet stares. He is the original old school G. But he is quiet and humble. He makes no pretenses about religion, thus stunning the neighborhood when it was let out that his donation of several thousand, his bequest, put the church over in the “new building fund.” Yes, they are all men with a story to tell. But delve into any of their pasts and suddenly the story gets murky. Pimps. Car-jackers. Hoods. Gamblers. Prostitutes. These men were it all. They represent underground Black America of the 70s. Some of them may have even killed people. So what happened? What made them all so quiet, so… holy? What was it?

“That thing that went down with Eddie,” Romeo says shaking his head quietly… “That thing that went down with Eddie… wudn’t right man… wudn’t right…”

“…”

That thing that went down with Eddie. Relativity put to Yoruba Theater.

…
If thieves honor meant nothing, organized crime would not be effective. But just how honorable was the system?