B-Careful

by Shannon Holmes

  “Huh?” Tone looked at her, confused.

  “Huh my ass,” she stated. “Drop ya draws and let me smell ya dick, since you ain’t doin’ nuttin’ wit’ nobody.”

  He didn’t have a valid defense for that. Refusal to do what his girlfriend asked was like an admittance of guilt.

  “You trust me?” Tone asked as he stalled for time, looking for a way out of the situation.

  She stared at him blankly, not insulted by his question and most of all, not the least bit surprised.

  “Nigga, cut the bullshit and do what I asked you to do. If you don’t there’s gonna be a problem,” she advised.

  In order to dispel her suspicions, Tone knew he had to do what she said or things might get physical. Sonya was known to go ‘crazy’ on him from time to time.

  “Yo, I don’t believe you, Sonya,” he told her. “This what we come to.....”

  Sonya was betting Tone had just finished having sex, and she’d bet her life that his dick smelt like one of two things, pussy or fresh soap. She didn’t care because either way, he had a problem.

  “Well believe it! You ain’t exactly been an angel, so don’t act like I don’t have my reasons either,” she said, while dropping to her knees.

  Immediately Sonya stuck her fingers in the slit of his underwear and removed his penis. She took his member into her hand, looking up disgustingly at Tone before taking a strong whiff. Her first smell was undecipherable. Her nostrils were unable detect the scent of a female on him. So Sonya smelled it again and again, only to find nothing out of the ordinary there.

  From the look on her face, Tone could tell he passed the test with flying colors. If not, he knew he probably wouldn’t have a dick; Sonya would have bit it off by now.

  Tone had to admit that was a close one. He had a strategy for when he slept around and this time it was put to the test. First, he never took a shower at the motel or the chick’s house. All he did was wash his private parts lightly enough to get the scent of the condom off his penis and pubic hairs. Secondly, he used the same soap to wash up that he always used at home. And last but not least, he put the heat on high in the car as he drove home so his body could sweat. Tone had it all figured out.

  “You feel stupid?” he asked. “Told you I wasn’t doin’ nuttin’.”

  He continued, “Now gimme some head since you down there.”

  Literally, Sonya was in no position to tell him no. She complied with his request for some oral sex. She began sucking him off, as she if owed him something. For this couple the only thing better than sex, was make up sex.

  After a night of fucking and sucking, it seemed like all was forgotten. Tone had sexually performed up to her expectations, so at least for tonight, Sonya’s fears were eased.

  The next few days things between them actually got better. Tone hung around the house a little more and was very attentive to his girlfriend. However, the good times didn’t last long though, things quickly went back to normal with Tone ripping and running the streets.

  One way or another, things had to change for these two. At least that’s how Sonya felt.

  8

  Unexpectedly for Tone, things seemed to go from bad in his personal life, to worst in the streets. The previous night Tone had placed his pager on silent mode, so he never felt the continuous pages from his cousin Mann. If he would have, it would’ve alerted him that something was seriously wrong on the block.

  As Tone turned the corner, to his surprise the block was flooded with cop cars. A crowd of people, nosy neighbors and a significant number of bystanders, congregated near an alleyway, which was currently taped off by the police. This signaled that this was an active crime scene. Tone didn’t know what was going on, but he was about to find out. Something was messing up his money and he wasn’t happy about it. The police presence was bad for business.

  What the fuck happened? he thought while advancing toward the commotion. His pulse quickened as he got close enough to get a glimpse of the body lying on the ground, blanketed by a white sheet.

  Who the fuck is that? he wondered. Simultaneously, a young neighborhood girl turned around and spotted him. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes blood shot red from crying.

  “Tone...Shorty dead!” she blurted out.

  “What?” he responded.

  “Sorry for your loss.” she said, walking away stunned. From the look on his face she realized she had said too much.

  Tone was in complete denial. He couldn’t believe Shorty was dead. By maneuvering his way through the crowd, he got a better view of the outline of the body. Still he didn’t want to believe it was Shorty. Tone probably could take it better knowing Shorty got shot and survived. But seeing her lifeless body on the cold concrete was too much to bear.

  He overheard two junkies talking. “Yo, they shot Shorty? Man, say it ain’t so.....” the man stated in disbelief.

  “Yeah yo. Some rotten no-good muthafucka done killed Shorty!” Another cursed. “I hope they gotta special place in hell for that son of a bitch. She ain’t deserve that....”

  Just like that, bits and pieces of gossip began to reach Tone. It seemed like one by one people approached him to tell him what went down and whom they thought was responsible for it. However, no one actually saw anything, there were no witnesses. This may have been all assumptions, but Tone already knew who was behind this. There was only one logical answer...Sykes. But the only question was why? Why kill Shorty when it was him who he had a problem with.

  It’s all my fault, Tone thought. He felt a sense of guilt that he was alive and Shorty was dead. In his mind it was like Shorty had taken a bullet for him.

  Shorty had warned him, but Tone thought it was an exaggeration. He thought Sykes wouldn’t do anything, that he had more bark than bite. Now he realized just how wrong he was.

  Tone couldn’t think straight, there were too many people coming over to address him. The police began staring at him. His presence was beginning to draw too much unwanted attention. He had to get away from the area; already he was beginning to feel smothered by the hood expressing their condolences. The sentiments they displayed were coming from a place of love. Still, it was a somber scene. But through the outpouring of affection, Tone saw how beloved Shorty really was.

  Tone felt like his world had just been turned upside down. Shorty was Tone’s right hand. She had started off as a complete stranger but had evolved into his most trusted companion. With her help, Tone had built his drug business from the ground up. So surely he owed Shorty a debt of gratitude, at the very least.

  Getting the person who did this lay at the forefront of his mind. Seeking revenge was the only thing that could possibly make Tone feel better about this situation. It was the only thing that would satisfy him. On the surface his rage was invisible, yet inwardly a violent storm brewed. At this point, it was wherever and whenever he ran into Sykes, it was on.

  It didn’t matter how long it would take, or what it may cost him in time or money, or what toll that the situation may extract from him, it had to be done. Nevertheless, if Tone had taken everything into account beforehand, the price of revenge may have been more than he was willing to pay.

  “Yo, Cuzo,” Mann whispered into his ear as he eased up on him. “I was hittin’ you on the hip, you ain’t get my pages?”

  Tone didn’t even turn his head, he sensed the familiar presence of his cousin Mann, now standing at his side.

  “Nah,” he said flatly.

  Mann continued, “Anyway yo, let’s be out! There’s nuttin’ we can do about this shit right now.”

  Tone shook his head, “I’m stayin’. I’ma wait til the Coroner come.”

  He felt that was the least he could do. He wasn’t too good at saying goodbye and right now he didn’t want to. But merely paying his respects was not enough. Tone was looking for some payback. Right now, Tone was in a dark place.

  Mann sympathized with what his cousin was going through. He knew Tone always took death hard, especially
when it came to the people he truly loved. Tone and Shorty had a bond that he never could really understand. But what was understood amongst them didn’t have to be explained to him.

  He often asked his cousin why was he still dealing with Shorty long after his need for her expertise had gone, after all her fuck ups.

  “Shorty taught me everything I know about hustlin’ in Baltimore,” he once told him. “I wouldn’t be where I’m at without her.”

  Shorty’s murder really hurt Tone, to him she was one of them. She was a part of his inner circle, so he felt like he had been cheated of a good worker and robbed of a great friend.

  After the Coroner van arrived and placed Shorty’s remains in a black body bag, whisking it away to the city morgue to perform an autopsy, Tone collected himself and walked away as the crowd began to disperse. All he kept thinking was, he had some unfinished business to take care of, immediately.

  Back at the apartment, Tone and his cousin Mann continued to discuss Shorty’s murder. His cousin made it clear that he had no personal interest in revenge, his mind was on the money and he wasn’t out here for anything else. It made no difference to him whether Sykes got away with it or not. As far as he was concerned, let someone in her family handle it, or let the police take care of it.

  Tone didn’t share those same sentiments. He wasn’t going to let the beef end with Shorty’s death, or wait for someone else to step up. He took it upon himself to be that someone else. So, this was far from over. Sykes had to deal with him now. And Tone would be shooting to kill.

  “Yo, what happened today could have happened at any time to any one of us. That shit ain’t on you. Don’t beat yaself up over that kid,” Mann advised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

  Tone leaned against the kitchen countertop with his eyes cast downward at the floor, his stressed facial features showed little interest in what his cousin was saying. Mann couldn’t tell if he heard him or not. Suddenly, he looked up, needing a distraction from his thoughts.

  “I know,” he stated flatly. “I just feel bad. Shorty is dead because of me. It’s as simple as that. She was just guilty by association.”

  Tone fell silent for a moment. He stared blankly at Mann, but there was nothing in his eyes, no fear, no pain, no sadness.

  “Yo, word to mother, I’ma kill that bitch ass nigger!” he blurted out.

  Mann interrupted, “Bosses don’t kill people. They get people killed. Yo, you too valuable to even be thinkin’ like that.”

  “Fuck that!” Tone shouted. “This shit is personal. He gotta know where this is comin’ from and why.”

  “Tone, you ready to risk everything you built? We gettin’ crazy money! Think about it. You said the nigga a dope fiend. If that’s so, why even bother with him? He already killin’ himself. Just let Karma handle it for you.”

  “Yeah, he is killin’ himself. But a bullet will help him speed up the process,” he snapped. “At some point in time, you gotta stand fa sumthin’ or niggas will walk all over you. Can’t just let this shit go.”

  Tone feared if he didn’t handle this that his conscience would eat at him. He felt like Shorty would never forgive him. He talked the talk, now he had to walk the walk.

  At that point, there was no talking Tone out of it. Mann knew it. His cousin loved him, and he knew that Tone knew that he loved him too. Mann had no choice in the matter. He had to ride with his cousin because if the shoe were on the other foot, Tone would be riding for him. No questions asked.

  It was dark after Shorty’s death. The streets just didn’t feel the same to Tone any more. Every day he grew tenser. He was still making money, which was cool, but it just didn’t feel right without Shorty. She had never been easy to work with, but her sudden absence affected Tone greatly. It was weird just to be out on Ashland Avenue and not see her serving a customer, collecting money or running around all crazy. It was her advice that he sought on anything from drug sales to woman problems, that he would miss the most.

  The cold reality was Shorty was dead and Tone felt a debt of responsibility because of it. Mentally, he was having a hard time that she wasn’t here.

  Tone looked up and down the block, his eyes taking everything in. Like every day since it happened, he hoped and prayed Sykes would show his face. But he didn’t. Tone was frustrated by his inability to locate Sykes, however, he knew he couldn’t hide from him forever. Eventually he’d make a mistake, and Tone vowed it would be his last. All he had to do was wait patiently for the opportunity to present itself, then strike. Being a heroin addict, Sykes straddled that fine line between addiction and desperation. Tone knew something would give, he just didn’t know when.

  Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, thoughts of Sykes dominated Tone’s attention. He hustled all day, then he and Mann rode around Baltimore City at nighttime to well known open air drug markets, in search of him.

  “Here is somethin’ you can’t understand,” rap group Cypress Hill sang through the car stereo. “How I could just kill a man.”

  “Yo, I’m gettin’ tired of listenin’ to this shit,” Mann complained as he drove.

  Tone ignored him. He sat stiffly in the passenger seat as his eyes scoured each drug block and each street the car passed. They went from East Baltimore, to West Baltimore, Park Heights to Cherry Hill, on a search and destroy mission. He had his eyes peeled for Sykes or anyone who fit his physical description. He had a heightened sense of awareness about everything around him and everything in his vicinity. Tone didn’t overlook a thing. He was anxious to get some payback for Shorty’s sake, and for his as well. He knew the streets were watching, wondering how he would respond or if he would at all. Tone had the answer to that question tucked safely under his seat, in the form of a fully automatic tech-nine machine gun.

  That night, or any other night that Tone went looking for Sykes, he didn’t find him. So Tone decided to be more strategic in his approach to tracking Sykes down. He removed himself from the block in the hopes that his absence would lure Sykes into feeling comfortable enough to come back around. He struggled with the thought that his absence might be sending the wrong message, that people might think that Sykes ran him off the block, or that he was scared. But that wasn’t the case at all.

  “Let these niggas think what they wanna think,” Mann replied after hearing his plan. “Fuck ‘em!”

  His cousin’s endorsement of his idea meant a lot to Tone, especially at a time like this.

  “I’m just gonna lay low,” Tone told Mann. “As soon as anybody see ‘em, hit my house phone and I’m out here.... On his ass!”

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Sonya said, sarcastically. “You been home a whole lot lately. What’s up Tone?”

  She looked at him with a stern expression on her face, expecting Tone to tell her the real reason he had been in the house so much lately. Sonya knew something was up. They had been living together for close to a year now. She had studied his habits and routines. Being a homebody just wasn’t him, so Sonya knew something was wrong. What it was she had no idea.

  Instead of snapping at her, Tone chose to kill her with kindness.

  “Yo, let’s go to the movies,” he said. “That new flick New Jack City just came out today.”

  “What?” she answered. “It’s too early in the day boy.”

  “So what you sayin’, you don’t wanna go Sonya?” Tone accused her.

  She stated, “That’s not what I’m sayin’. I’m sayin’ it’s early. Why don’t we wait till tonite?”

  “There’s no better time than the present,” he tried convincing her. “You gotta be spontaneous..... Let’s make it a date. We can go to the movies at Security Mall, then we can go downtown and get somethin’ to eat. You wit’ it or what?”

  “Okay,” Sonya said excitedly. “Tone, what we gone see?”

  “New Jack City, I already told you,” he added. “Go get dressed. And don’t take long.”

  Hurriedly, Sonya disappeared into her walk-in closet in
search of a cute outfit to wear. Meanwhile, Tone dressed in black from head to toe, in a pair of black Levi’s, black hoodie, black leather jacket and black Timberland Chukkas. He put his .380 caliber semi- automatic in his pocket, just in case. There was no way he was leaving his house without protection. Things were too nasty in the streets for him right now.

  Sonya promptly reappeared, looking stunning in a pair of form fitting jeans and some high heels.

  “Lookin’ good girl,” he stated, watching as her face lit up. “You ready?”

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  Tone threw her a set of car keys, which Sonya caught. “We takin’ da MPV,” he told her. “You drivin’.”

  Sonya sucked her teeth. “Why can’t you drive?”

  “Cause I’m not,” he replied. “That’s the least you can do. Damn, I’m takin’ you to the movies, bout to feed you and fuck you. What else you want from a nigga?”

  Tone and Sonya had a great time at the movies. They really enjoyed each other’s company. Just being together for that long period of time bought back memories for Sonya on why she fell in love with him in the first place.

  “To me the movie was dope. Nino Brown was that nigga until he took the stand and snitched,” Tone commented.

  “Because he snitched that ruined the movie for you?” Sonya wondered.

  “Muthafuckin’ right,” he said. “See, I don’t expect you to understand that, you not in the streets.”

  “I’ll be glad when the day comes when you not in the streets either,” she declared.

  “I hear you,” Tone responded. “That day will soon come.”

  Sonya had some apprehensions about that statement. If Tone really meant what he said, he could show her better than he could tell her. She had to admit, today was a good start. Now if he could be more consistent with spending quality time with her, then they might be able to get back to where they were, where he was as connected to her as she was to him.