Ghetto Girls IV

by Anthony Whyte

  “Nothing good happens after midnight,” she whispered.

  Ms. Harvey could hear the counselor’s voice buzzing in her head. She remembered all the steps to maintain her sobriety. Trying to walk the walk, her strut slowed. She felt the yearning overtaking her senses and soon it was no use running. Too weak to fight, she stopped, looked at the pitcher and gave the proverbial nod.

  A few minutes later, Ms. Harvey and a couple of her drug-related friends were coughing up a storm while sucking the crack-pipe. Sweat drained profusely from her pores as the rock went from yellow to bright red. She puffed, took a breath and inhaled deeply,.

  “Ah yes, I’m ready to get it on…” she hissed, exhaling fumes as her mind raced and her hips swirled to a pulsing reggae beat in her head.

  Later she was so high, a man she met through one of her drug relations easily forced her into the bathroom. In no time, Ms. Harvey’s panties were off and she got busy, giving it up. They fucked until Ms. Harvey was left squatting, immobilized on the toilet seat. She was completely unaware of time. After urinating, she stumbled off the seat. Her legs were weak and her mind was moving slow. She stood on shaky legs, examining a dismal expression in the bathroom mirror. She had to get away, quickly. Ms. Harvey fixed her clothes ran out the bar and hastily made tracks to her apartment.

  Inside the familiar littered haunts, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. Ms. Harvey wiped away her tears. Shame clouded her thoughts. Her smile was twisted when she thought about the graduation earlier. She was proud to watch her daughter walking across the podium. The feeling of pride overtook her. Suddenly, as if struck by a blast of energy, she jumped and raced out the bathroom.

  Ms. Harvey ran to the closet and removed her daughter’s graduation gown. She put it on. It swallowed her emaciated frame. She placed the hat and tassels across her face and walked back and forth, pretending to receive her diploma. Then a slow realization hit her hard. She’d cheated. The thought bowled her over onto the sofa. Her stare became fixed on the television. Coco must not find out, she thought. Ms. Harvey jumped up, stripped and got in the shower. She scrubbed herself and then rushed to fix her hair.

  Coco always up in my business. I gotta clean up real good.Her thoughts put haste to her actions as she started putting furniture and pillows back in place. Ms. Harvey wandered about the apartment, brushing the furniture off. I need some rest, she thought, picking up the pipe and turning the lighter on high. She puffed hard, sucking on the stem in her quietness.

  Ms. Harvey plopped down on the sofa and picked up the remote control. She was about to turn on the television when the ringing phone startled her. She stared blankly at the instrument. Perspiration formed on her brow and her lips went dry. The ringing continued louder. What if it’s Coco? The thought was stuck in her head, echoing loudly like a broken record.

  Licking her dried lips, she watched wide-eyed as her heart pounded and the phone continued ringing loudly.

  “Hello…” she breathed, nervously cradling the phone too close to the side of her face.

  In an attempt to hear better what was being said, Ms. Harvey adjusted the instrument. When she heard the screaming on the other end, Ms. Harvey became anxious.

  “Hello. Hello. Who is this? Slow down and talk…”

  Ms. Harvey held her breath and fearfully listened to the caller. After a few minutes, the phone slipped from her grip. Her body crumpled to the floor. She was staring at the ceiling and her head was shaking side to side. Ms. Harvey opened her mouth but no sound came. Her lips were ashy-gray and dry. Ms Harvey pulled her hair and kicked her legs then stared off as if hypnotized by a beam of light. She finally let out a loud, blood-curdling, guttural wail.

  “What did she say?” Deedee asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know but I don’t think she took it very well,” Josephine answered, staring at the cellphone in her hand.

  Deedee lit another cigarette and they smoked while waiting outside the hospital.

  “Do you think Coco’s gonna pull through this one, Dee?”

  “You know her better than me. I mean you’ve known her longer and...” Deedee sucked on the cigarette and passed it to Josephine. “One thing I know for sure, she’s a powerful sister and a real fighter.”

  “Yeah, I know. Coco was a… is a great sister,” Josephine said.

  “I don’t know why he had it in for Coco so much.”

  “Crazy ass, he was trying to kill everyone he came in contact with.”

  “One thing I’m happy about is he’s dead. Eric killed that nigga’s ass fer sure,” Josephine said.

  “My uncle didn’t kill him. The detective did,” Deedee said immediately.

  “I was ducking and running to see what happened to Coco. I didn’t know it was the detective who shot his ass. How Eric wind up with the gun in his hand?” Josephine asked.

  “The detective gave it to him after he shot Lil’ Long.”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “I don’t know. I know my uncle did not shoot anyone.”

  “You sure it wasn’t Eric? The detective took him—”

  “I am sure. I saw the whole thing. He’s completely innocent,” Deedee said emphatically.

  “My bad. I just thought it was him that’s all. I was busy trying to help Coco,” Josephine said.

  “We better get our stories right. You know the police is gonna be questioning us next,” Deedee warned.

  “Yeah, I’ll say what you told me. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me saying a thing. It’s about whether or not Coco’s gonna live, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s it’s all about,” Deedee said. The emotion running through her mind made her sound even more concerned.

  “Shit man, I still haven’t gotten over losing Dani. I can’t lose Coco too…” Josephine’s voice trailed and she started crying.

  “Yeah, how could anyone forget Dani?” Deedee asked, her mind drifting.

  Coco, Danielle and Josephine were all gifted singers and dancers. Coco was special. She was tough but had opened up and shared more with Deedee than any of the other girls. Ever since they met on that ominous night outside the club, their friendship had blossomed to incredible heights.

  Da Crew was Danielle—rich, spoiled, sexy beautiful and talented. Josephine was coy and smart. Her dad was a lawyer and her mother a doctor. They kept her under strict control. Being a part of da Crew was her escape. She used to be shy but now she was more outgoing. Josephine, like Danielle, used to use sex and her charm to entrance the man of her interest.

  Deedee was aware of Josephine’s attraction to her uncle. Danielle would’ve been flirtatious. She was that way, loose and selfish because she despised sharing the limelight with anyone. Until her death, it was all about Danielle. Deedee stared at Josephine, wondering if Danielle was now living on in Josephine. They hugged and tears flowed.

  CHAPTER 2

  Detective Kowalski was profusely perspiring, pacing back and forth. His swagger slowed and he rubbed his nose, thinking. The detective wanted to wrap this case up fast.

  “Your protections are all gone. Your mob associates were all wiped out. Now level with me! Are you leading a criminal enterprise?” he asked, staring at Eric’s nonchalant face. “Am I right? You took care of Maruichi and his boys so you can be a drug kingpin?”

  “What the hell are you talking ‘bout, man?” Eric snorted.

  Kowalski was in the hunt for a suspect and possibly a promotion if he could crack this case open. Eric sat at a desk in the detective’s office, his arms folded. He watched as the detective paced in front of him.

  Eric was contemplating his next move and glanced at the presidential Rolex on his wrist. It was five after eight in the morning. His lawyers would arrive soon to get him out of this jam. Having already spent six hours being interrogated by the police, Eric was a little frustrated, but in control.

  “Look dick, I ain’t stupid so why don’t we cut the fun and games. You’ve got nothing on me. I don’t have to say anything
until my lawyers walk up in here. Then I’m out. You understand, don’t you?” Eric was tired and his voice sounded strained.

  “Don’t forget, I got a weapon used in the commission of a crime with your prints all over it.”

  “That’s bullshit! I got witnesses. I didn’t commit any crimes, dick. My lawyer walks up in here, I walk out. That’s what’s up!”

  “You fucking screwball, you’re not going anywhere. This is your gun and it was used in killing a man.”

  Detective Kowalski discharged the magazine and slammed a black Glock 37 on the desk. The sound of the weapon making contact with the empty desk reverberated through the tiny office. Eric was unshaken but Kowalski’s breath was coming fast. He leaned closer and yelled.

  “I could make it real bad for you if you don’t cooperate!”

  Kowalski’s tone was menacing but Eric remained unfazed. He folded his arms and smirked at the sweating detective.

  “Oh yeah, that’s your story, dick. I ain’t gotta say no more. My lawyer will be here soon and you’re going to have to let me go. Stop the games. You’re trying to plant that on me. You and I know it’s not working.”

  Kowalski stared at Eric and shook his head. The brass would back him if he could break the case open. He needed something corroborating. Detective Kowalski thought for a minute. An officer walked into the room and handed Kowalski a note.

  “I’m saying this now Ascot. It’s cheaper for you to play ball with us,” Kowalski warned and stared at the piece of paper.

  Then he smiled.

  “It seems like your man Lil’ Long was planning ahead. He’ll be haunting you even in death.” Kowalski stood and watched Eric’s reaction.

  Eric stared at the smiling detective, wondering what was written on the piece of paper.

  “What do you mean, dick?”

  “Here, read this for yourself,” Kowalski said, shoving the note at Eric.

  Eric hesitated but took the note. His face contorted when he saw his name and beneath it the (800) BODY-HIT grim reaper signature. Blood rushed to his head, making him woozy. Eric steadied himself and turned the note over as if expecting something other than the dollar amount. He held the paper as if he was weighing it in his hand.

  “I mean, your friend, or should I say ex-friend, put out a flat one hundred grand on your head.” Kowalski laughed, snapping his fingers like he was rolling dice. “How’d you like that turn of events, huh? Just when you thought you were home free. Now you’re gonna have to be looking over your shoulders all the time.” The detective paused and snickered. “Now, do you want to cooperate? Remember your good friend, Busta had been marked for such a hit, before you answer. Busta told us a few things about your arrangement before his brain was blown out.”

  Eric didn’t know what to say. He shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his chin and rubbed the stubble on his face. Busta would never snitch. Lil’ Long had killed him, he was sure, but Eric didn’t know why. Busta stayed connected to the street and had beef with a lot of people.

  The detective reached into his bag of tricks and placed a ring on the desk. Eric’s mind froze for a beat. He stared at the familiar canary yellow diamond on the ring Busta used to wear on his right pinky finger.

  It was as if the detective had found the right bullet for the empty gun on the desk. He smiled wryly when he saw Eric’s brow wrinkled and a notable grimace clouding his expression. Eric was pondering all his options. The number one priority was to get out and make sure his niece was okay. Second he needed added security. Eric summed it up in his mind. He looked at the detective sweating him through a heated stare.

  “Cooperate…? C’mon man, I already told you I don’t know anything. You’re barking up the wrong tree!”

  “Now you’re sounding like Eric Ascot, Mr. Big Time Music Producer, but you’re going down one way or the other. There are people out there who killed my partner and I wanna know why and I wanna know it quickly. You can start by telling us all about how you and Busta conspired to murder four people.”

  Eric looked at the notepaper again and then at the detective. This was a trick to get him to talk. He shoved the note at the befuddled detective.

  “When my legal team gets here, you’re gonna have to release me, dick. You and I know none of the things you’re saying is true. You’re just trying to shake me down for info I know nothing about. Do us both a favor and fall back. You’ve kept me here too long already, wasting my fucking time.”

  “Yeah, you’re gonna probably get your release. But I’m telling you, you’re a slime ball and you’ll be back crawling and begging once those bullets start coming at you. The bullet only nicked you this time. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time,” Eric said.

  “They’re all dead, Eric. Busta, Maruichi and his boys, we’re all you’ve got left. Come straight and we can work out a deal,” the detective offered.

  “Deal? You cannot be serious?”

  “We’ll see. You’re brave now. Next time you won’t be able to fucking make up a song about it because you’ll be a dead cocksucker!” Kowalski screamed in Eric’s face.

  “Yeah, I don’t care about your theories,” Eric said.

  “I’m gonna give them to you anyhow,” Kowalski said, leaning closer. “You and your former friend, Busta, have been in contact with a hit squad, an organization which goes by some kind of code. Now we can prove the organization is responsible in the killing of at least four police officers and several civilians on someone’s orders. Your involvement has already been determined. Now you can tell us who gave the orders for those people to die. Give me names and some reasons why these people were murdered!”

  The detective’s bellowing didn’t rattle Eric, who calmly adjusted the yellow diamond cuff links on his Gucci shirt.

  “I was shot,” he said. “You’ve had me cooped up in this office all morning trying to get me to answer questions on shit I don’t know about. I guess you don’t know when to quit, huh?” Eric was looking at the gun.

  “Why did he want you dead?”

  “Maybe he was a disgruntled fan. He didn’t like my last song. I don’t know. Maybe you know dick.”

  The detective was rattled and grabbed Eric by his shirt collar. Eric rose to his feet as the detective continued shaking him.

  “He may have missed that time you sonofabitch! There’ll be other chances to prove just how tough you are!” Kowalski screamed.

  Two uniform officers came busting through the door. They fought and struggled to get the detective off Eric. During the commotion, Eric was hit twice in the face before they finally dragged the irate Kowalski away.

  “You better cut a deal right now. The price on your head guarantees you’ll be back begging for our help,” Kowalski shouted as he was pulled out the office. “You’re gonna be begging—”

  “Muthafucka get outta my face,” Eric muttered while examining his torn shirt. A couple minutes later, a uniformed officer returned. “That muthafucka must be crazy,” Eric said. looking at his injured arm. Another officer approached him.

  “They giving you a hard time?” the officer asked.

  “This shirt must be offensive,” he sighed, shaking his head.

  “You can leave. Your lawyers have bailed you out,” he said.

  Eric got up and adjusted his clothes. The chief stepped in front of him, looking him up and down.

  “I don’t like your kind. You rap millionaires wearing your expensive clothes trying to pass yourselves off as decent people…”

  “I’m not a rap millionaire, I’m a music producer I do all types of—”

  “Whatever you are, all the hip-hop-pity-shit makes no difference to me. At the end of the day, you’re still a criminal so you better be prepared to pay them high price lawyers a lot of damn money. You can guarantee one thing. We will get you. Go on back to your studio and put it in a damn song, Mr. Music Producer.”

  He was mean-grilling so close to Eric that blobs of spit cr
ashed into his face. Eric pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his face.

  “You made your point,” Eric said before walking out the office.

  Kowalski, the chief and his superiors were staring at him as if he were a prize. They watched Eric strut to the front desk and shake hands with his lawyer.

  “We need constant surveillance on him. He’s a tough guy with a soft heart. Let’s find where he’s slipping and then let’s pounce. Give him a lot of attention, I want wiretaps to go over his telephone records. He’s connected somehow. Find me something so I can nail the nigga to the wall,” the chief ordered. “We’ve got to wrap this case and very soon. We need the murderer caught. The department already lost a couple of good men in this one. We can’t afford to drag this one too long, especially you Kowalski. He helped to kill your partner. Now get on your jobs!” the chief ordered.

  A group of detectives huddled and as Eric walked by, they nodded and dispersed. Eric stood at the front desk and conferring for a few minutes with his attorney. They walked away still in conversation.

  “Are you alright, Eric? Everything is alright. But apparently someone from their side notified the media. The news hounds are waiting outside. I’ll handle them if you want me to.”

  “I want you to handle them. I’ll... I’ll...” Eric was worn out.

  His attorney turned and looked at the precinct commander, smiled and continued walking. Outside flashbulbs went off and reporters bumrushed the pair. Eric shook off the early morning sluggishness he felt and gave a good performance with a smile. Pictures were taken and the attorney started answering questions. Eric kept walking but was unable to avoid the ugly glare of the cameras and queries.

  “How was your stay Mr. Ascot?” a paparazzo asked.

  “How’d you like to be cooped up in a police precinct answering questions all night without being charged? And to make matters worse, I was the victim of a crime. Despite all that provocation, I’m doing real well. My songs are popping off the charts and I’m about to embark on a new project…”