B-Careful

by Shannon Holmes

  Tone leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, we gone be aiight. I promise you, my love. I’m doin’ this shit for us.”

  It took her a moment to process what he said and to recover from his affectionate kiss. Sonya couldn’t help but think what a romantic thing for Tone to say. Suddenly their relationship was beginning to feel hopeful again and not like they were doomed. “I love you, Tone,” she said.

  “I love you more,” he replied. “But do me a favor, drive by Pennsylvania Avenue on our way downtown.”

  “Really?” Sonya snapped. “Tone, you really know how to kill a moment. Can’t you handle that shit on ya time. You on my time right now.”

  “Just do me that favor,” he asked. “I need to see somethin’ real quick. It’s only gone take a second.”

  Sonya drove down Security Blvd. to Edmonson Avenue, and then she took a left on Fulton Avenue and a right on North Avenue, which lead to the notorious Pennsylvania Avenue. Just as Tone suspected, there were plenty of people out and about. Like a hawk his eyes scanned each person’s face, the addicts, the dealers, and the commuters on their way home from work, until he came across one that looked familiar. Suddenly, Tone sat up straight in the passenger seat as he began to stare more intensely. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He couldn’t believe his luck. That face that looked eerily familiar to him belonged to none other than Sykes. It was a small world and suddenly it had just gotten smaller.

  “Slo down,” Tone suggested. His eyes were following Sykes’ every movement.

  Yeah, that’s that fat nigger, he thought.

  Tone took a shot in the dark by driving to Pennsylvania Avenue and Gold Street, a renowned drug block, and finding the unexpected Sykes, looking like he was going to cop.

  “Pull over,” Tone ordered Sonya.

  “What the hell?” Sonya said, surprised. “What’s so important?”

  “Gotta go holler at somebody real quick,” he replied.

  “Whatever you say,” she continued.

  “Do me a favor. Whatever you do, don’t cut off the car,” Tone warned. “I’ll be right back!”

  The way he said that, the intensity in his voice, made Sonya pause momentarily and stare at him. As soon as Tone jumped out the car it made her question why they even came this way. Something wasn’t right, she could tell. Her common sense told her as much. She knew there was more to the story.

  With his hoodie pulled low over his head and his hands jammed inside his pockets, Tone walked quickly across the street. Suddenly people began moving out of his way, as if they could sense that he was up to no good. Tone continued to follow Sykes, who at this time was oblivious of his presence. Soon as he turned on to Gold Street, Tone picked up his pace. He steadily began to close the distance between them. Tone didn’t want to shoot him in the back, especially not from far away. He wanted to get close enough to put a bullet in his head.

  Unaware that he was being stalked, Sykes continued to walk toward his ride while clutching a few bags of dope. All that was on his mind was making it to the car and getting away from around here so he and his driver could go somewhere and get high.

  Just as Tone removed the small caliber gun from his pocket and began to quicken his pace, Sykes must have felt his presence because he turned around just in time to see the weapon being raised and pointed in his direction. Tone saw the fear in his eyes. Sykes looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Immediately, he took off running.

  Boom! Boom! The gun roared.

  Two bullets quickly whizzed by his head. Sykes’ surprisingly quick reaction had amazed Tone. He hadn’t expected that.

  The sound of the first shot immediately grabbed Sonya’s attention. She doubted that it was gunfire until she heard it again. She turned to the direction that the noise had come from. Realizing it was the same direction that Tone had disappeared into, she began to wonder just what the hell was he up to.

  Running behind Sykes, Tone quickly gained ground. He was so close that he could hear Sykes gasping for air. Stopping in his tracks, he aimed his gun. Tone’s adrenaline was racing through his veins. His finger tightened on the trigger. His thoughts seemed to slow down as the surreal moment played itself out on that side street.

  Tone desperately tried to steady his hand so he could get a clean shot at Sykes’ head. He knew his first two shots had missed just by the ease of which his victim was still running.

  “Yeah nigger, what’s up now,” Tone yelled, removing his hoodie.

  In his mind Sykes was a dead man. Tone stood less than fifty feet away from him, thinking how easy it was to kill him before he got to the car. Now he would put this drama to an end once and for all.

  Fearing for his life, Sykes summoned a burst of speed that even he didn’t know he had. Thinking Tone was hot on his heels, Sykes began to run in a zig-zag pattern to his ride. As he ran, Sykes couldn’t help but think that at any moment he was going to catch a bullet in his back or to the back of the head. In fact, he braced himself for it.

  Just as Sykes reached the car door, Tone calmly took aim and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Tone stared at Sykes in disbelief as he scrambled to get inside the car. Once again he squeezed the trigger at the car window, because Sykes had already fled inside, and again nothing happened. It was then that Tone realized that there was a malfunction in the gun. It had jammed. As if his life depended on it, Tone quickly ejected the clip into his hand, removing the awkward angled, unspent shell. He then slammed the clip back into the gun. He cocked the gun back and prepared to fire, but it was too late. The getaway car was gone.

  The sound of tires screeching signaled to Tone that his opportunity was getting away. So he did the only thing he could do. He chased the car, firing erratically at it while running.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! The crackle and pop of gunfire sounded. Once the car was out of sight, Tone turned and ran back in the opposite direction. Sonya had already been looking in the direction where the loud gunshots had come from. Within a few seconds, Tone reappeared, running from that exact same corner.

  “Drive!” he shouted as he entered the car.

  “Was that you shooting?” she questioned.

  When it came to certain things involving the streets, Tone had to spell it out for her. More than likely, this always took place at the wrong time. Now was one of those times. He didn’t have time to offer an explanation. Sonya just needed to play her part, do as she was told, and drive.

  “Yeah!” he barked. “Now let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  “Oh my God!” she cried as she quickly drove away.

  “Slow down!” Tone coached her. “You goin’ too fast. You gone get me knocked.”

  Stunned, Sonya kept her eyes on the road and drove as best she could. Her nerves were shot. She was scared and angry at the same time. This was too much for her to handle. She felt like she didn’t deserve to be an accessory to a crime. What if that person was dead? What if someone had written down her tag number? Then it would all come back to her since the car was insured under her name.

  This was it for her, their quiet evening together was now officially over. She wanted to go home and calm her nerves.

  When Tone finally turned around, convinced that there were no police cars behind them, he noticed that they weren’t headed downtown in the direction of the restaurant.

  “Where you goin’?” he wondered. “The restaurant ain’t this way.”

  “I’m goin’ home.” She rolled her eyes. “I had enough of you for the night. Tone, I don’t believe you did no dumb shit like that wit’ me in the car. You put my life in danger....”

  “What?” Tone snapped, searching her face for a sign that she was joking. Something that told him this wasn’t real. He found none.

  Tone knew he exercised poor judgment and this was bad timing. But he had to do what he had to do. He didn’t know when he’d see Sykes again. Tone thought about explaining the whole situation to her. Quickly, he changed his mind. He felt no matter what he said
, Sonya wouldn’t understand. This was some street shit and a civilian would never understand it. There was no way he could ever justify the shooting. Tone figured Sonya would eventually get over it, she was a trooper.

  It took every ounce of his willpower to bite his tongue and not get into an argument with Sonya. Out of frustration, Tone grinded his teeth together loudly. He had little else to say.

  “Yeah, take me home!” he said aloud. This is the last time I try be nice to yo ass, he thought.

  9

  “What?” Tone spat groggily into the telephone. “Say that again.”

  “This nigga Sykes came through and robbed a few workers and shot up the block,” Mann repeated. “It’s crazy hot out here right now. Mad police.”

  “What about the stash?” Tone asked. “Did he hit the stash house?”

  “Nah, we good on that,” Mann told him. “Shop closed.”

  “Where you at?” Tone wondered.

  “I took a hack to my lil Shorty house out in Cedonia,” Mann informed him.

  Tone advised, “Stay right there, I’m on my way.”

  Damn, I can’t believe this shit is happening...FUCK! Tone cursed, hanging up the phone.

  Deep down inside he knew it was his own fault. Tone may have thought that he put the fear of God into Sykes, but that wasn’t the case at all. He had gotten overconfident after the shooting and had forgot to call anyone and make his team aware of what had happened. Sykes made him pay for that oversight. The very next day he had swiftly retaliated against them, hitting Tone where it hurt, in his pockets. He felt fortunate because things could have been much worse.

  Sykes was proving nothing was safe as long as he was around. He was playing a deadly game of hide and seek, in which whomever got caught would likely wind up dead. On the streets there was always someone out to get someone else, especially in East Baltimore, that was nothing new. It was just the way things were. Tone realized if it weren’t Sykes, he’d probably have an issue with someone else.

  Frustration simmered inside him. Sykes was becoming a big pain in his ass. To Tone he was more of a nuisance to the neighborhood, albeit a deadly one, than anything else. Tone jumped out the bed, threw on some clothes, and grabbed his gun. He hopped into his car and drove past the block before going to meet Mann.

  Once again they strategized on ways to solve their problem, none of which sat too well with Tone. They discussed putting a hit out on Sykes, but he was sure that word would get back to him. They also thought about bringing down a shooter from New York to carry out the plot. Tone nixed that idea too, since there was no telling when or where Sykes would be seen again. With the shooting incident, Tone had proven to himself and Sykes that he had enough heart to get down and dirty whenever the situation called for it. More than ever the situation was calling for it now.

  Besides Sykes, he had another problem. He had gotten some cocaine on consignment and he had to pay that bill as soon as possible. His connect didn’t want to hear about his beef, all he wanted was his money. He managed to stash enough money to live off for a few months, and also to pay for whatever amount of cocaine he had got fronted. But he didn’t want it to come to that. Quickly, Tone had to find a way to get it to him in a timely fashion. Or he had to face the fact that things might get worse before they got better.

  In the days following the robbery, Sykes went on the offensive against Tone and his team. He launched assault after assault, doing everything in his power to disrupt his drug business. He began shooting at all of Tone’s workers, anyone who had anything to do with Tone. If Sykes had it his way, he would run Tone and anyone who dealt with him from around Ashland Avenue and Madeira Street for good.

  One by one, local dudes from the area quit working for Tone until his team dissolved into just him and his cousin Mann. He couldn’t understand it, how was it possible that not one person from that area wanted to get money with him? He couldn’t believe how much Sykes had the whole hood under pressure. He suspected that he had verbally threatened more than a few people’s lives. And after what he had done to Shorty, no one was actually hanging around Tone to become his next victim.

  In response to their cowardly actions, what Tone really wanted to do was call them out for being pussies. He had every reason and yet no reason at all to be pissed off at them. But something held him back from doing that. He couldn’t think of what advantage that that would gain him. After all, this wasn’t their beef, it was his. He just needed time to process things, to think this thing out. Tone thought time away from the block was the best thing right now. It was best to lay low until the drama died down. All this back and forth shit was taking a toll on him.

  Tone glanced into his bathroom mirror, seeing the severity of his circumstances staring him in his face. He’d been staying in the house so much lately he didn’t know what to do with himself. He replayed the events of the past two days yet again. He needed a solution and he needed it fast. Tone searched his brain for a long time, thinking about Sykes. He was beefing with a man twice his age. And way more dangerous. So he figured he had to be doubly as cautious. He knew Sykes’ weakness was shooting dope. But it was one thing to know his weakness, and quite another to exploit it. Yet even another thing to find him. Sykes would weigh heavily on his mind for the next few days. That was until he got a phone call that would change everything.

  “Yo,” Mann spoke into the telephone. “I found out where that nigger Sykes is at.”

  Tone’s ears pricked. “You know where the nigger rests his head?”

  “Better than that,” Mann responded.

  “Say somethin’ kid!” Tone demanded.

  “City Jail,” Mann told him.

  “What?” Tone exclaimed. “How you know?”

  “Bumped into a dope fiend at Lexington Market and he told me he seen the nigger. Sykes got picked up on a retail theft charge,” Mann assured him.

  “Word?” Tone added.

  “Word!” Mann chimed in.

  Tone sighed as he came to a sudden realization. “That information ain’t gone do me no good. I can’t get at him in jail.”

  “Listen,” Mann began. “You can if you bail the nigger out.”

  Suddenly a light bulb went off in Tone’s head. The wheels in his mind began to turn. Mann had said a mouthful. For all intents and purposes, he thought that the news of Sykes’ arrest had put their beef on hold. Up until now it had been impossible to pinpoint Sykes’ location, the dope houses he frequented, or where he rested his head. Now suddenly Sykes’ advantage had just slipped away. For the first time since their altercation began, Tone had the upper hand. Now he could get some closure. Put an end to this dangerous game that he had been playing.

  By bailing Sykes out, Tone would know exactly where he would be and at what time. He could take it from there. The moment had come. Tone put the plan in place, and he knew what had to be done. Later that evening, he had one of Mann’s girlfriends pay the bond with a bail bondsman. Now all there was left to do was wait until the bail was posted and Sykes was released from City Jail on Eager Street. He would be right there watching and waiting.

  It was a narrow window of opportunity, but Tone thought it was well worth the shot. He knew he had one thing in his favor, the element of surprise.

  The conditions in Baltimore City Jail were deplorable; the place was unlivable, on a good day, unbearable on a bad day. Sykes thrived in these conditions, he was immune to them, having spent so much time in correctional facilities. He had lived in shooting galleries that weren’t much better than this. Fortunately for him, this wasn’t his first rodeo. He knew how to maneuver in jail.

  The legal system was his personal revolving door. Sykes had spent more than half his life incarcerated in jails from Hagerstown to the Maryland Eastern Shore. He thrived in these conditions. He was well known throughout the system. He once bragged that he could do his time at Baltimore City Jail standing on my head, that he knew how to bid.

  Sykes’ heroin habit had gotten the best of him, result
ing in him attempting to steal soap powder from a supermarket to feed his habit. Arrested, he was sent to City Jail in lieu of bail, not because of the severity of the crime, but because of his lengthy criminal history. Sykes was a repeat offender.

  Slowly, his cell door mechanically began to open, shattering the peaceful night’s silence that had engulfed the tier. The loud noise was enough to only make Sykes barely stir in his sleep. His cell door stood wide open for a few seconds without him so much as acknowledging it. Still in a deep sleep, Sykes hadn’t realized yet that his cell door was even open.

  “Sykes,” a correctional officer called out. Sykes was like a famous basketball player, he was known on a first name basis.

  No answer. “Sykes! Sykes!” He shouted again, this time louder. Sykes continued to lie on his back on his bunk, in a comatose state. He was enjoying the precious rest that jail afforded him. It was the same rest that evaded him whenever he was in the streets, and his drug habit kept him up for days and all hours of the night.

  “Sykes! Yo!” An inmate from a neighboring cell called out. “Wake up! The C.O. callin’ you.”

  He heard that.

  Groggily, Sykes opened his eyes to discover his cell door wide open. This is strange, he thought. The minute he sat up on his bed, his large belly protruded over his waistline. Bare-chested and dressed only in a pair of dingy white boxers, he stumbled to his feet and walked over to the cell door. He leaned halfway out the cell as he looked down the tier.

  “C.O., what the fuck is up, yo?” Sykes hollered down the tier.

  “Pack ya shit,” the Correctional Officer began. “You made bail. Let’s go!”

  “You whores better stop playin’ wit’ me, yo!” Sykes swore. “I just fuckin’ got here the other day. I ain’t even been to court yet. I ain’t made no fuckin’ bail, yo!... Now close my fuckin’ cell door and stop playin’ wit’ me!”

  Frustrated, Sykes re-entered his cell and laid back down on his bunk. He shook his head in disbelief.