19
Apple stared at Hood resolutely and asked him, “What’s the problem?”
Hood tossed her a few heroin packages stamped with the Queen of New York logo. There was one problem, though. The stamp was blue.
“Someone’s been using our trademark and selling it on the streets, profiting from our name,” Hood said.
The news was upsetting, and Apple immediately knew Queenie was behind the infringement. “That bitch got fuckin’ balls.”
“What you want us to do about it?” Hood asked.
Apple stared at the phony package in her hand and thought about it. They all were waiting for her reply.
“Is it any good?” she wanted to know.
“It’s 90% pure for half the price. The fiends can’t really tell the difference. Everyone is now asking for Queen of New York with the blue stamp, not the red.”
Queenie was turning out to be a worthy adversary. The younger woman with the unique look, unconventional business habits, and questionable sanity actually knew how to problem solve. Apple was impressed if not shocked. She looked at Hood and IG, and their faces were frozen in scowls. Queenie was taking money out of their mouths. Both had signed on under Apple’s tutelage, but she was taking a huge risk by not plugging a hole that was leaking. Apple had shared that Queenie had come after her twice, but now she was interfering in their business.
Hardheartedly, she locked eyes with her lieutenants and said to them, “Let her keep that stamp. If she wants to infringe on my brand and take our customers, then we’ll make sure that she has fewer customers to steal.”
IG asked, “How? You know fiends ain’t loyal.”
“Cut the heroin with fentanyl.”
“The pure heroin mixed with fentanyl will be a lethal dose for most fiends. They won’t be able to handle the product. Dead dope heads will put us out of business.”
“It’ll put her out of business. Use the blue stamp and flood the streets,” she ordered. “Our Queen of New York is dead. Make a new stamp and call it, Kiss the Ring. That should get that bitch’s attention.”
“You already got her attention, and it’s bad for business,” IG assessed. “If no one else is gonna speak up, then I will. Innocent people shouldn’t be the casualties of you and Queenie’s war. Fiends or not, they’re still human beings.”
IG was taking it personally because his mother was addicted to drugs, and he watched it wreak havoc on her mind and body. She was addicted to crack not heroin, but he still felt some kind of way. What if the dope boys sold his mother contaminated crack vials just to settle some silly presumed disrespect between two females going to war over a sideways look?
“Do I look like I give a fuck!” Apple shouted.
“That’s crazy—you gonna have bodies dropping all over the city,” IG continued to counsel her.
“IG, I’m not gonna repeat myself. What you won’t do another will. Choose, nigga!”
IG looked at Hood and realized he didn’t have his back. Hood stood stonefaced and erect like a yes-nigga.
Apple glared at her crew and coldheartedly uttered the words, “Get it fuckin’ done.”
What they purchased from the young dealer was worth more than platinum and gold to the two young fiends in the Bronx project. With Queen of New York in their grasp, they would shoot up somewhere private and find themselves in paradise. Yes, paradise. They were ready to fly a mile high and have out-of-body experiences. Heroin made them feel like they were on top of the world. For several years it’d become their escape. It made their pain go away—an injection into their bloodstream that made their minds go numb and a euphoria that cost ten dollars a bag. The rush of dopamine flooding the brain instantly gave the user an intense amount of pleasure. Heroin was better than sex for many, and Queen of New York was the Ferrari of heroin.
The two fiends, one female and one male, hurriedly walked away from the street dealer and headed for the Soundview projects. The two fiends hastily found isolation and seclusion inside the project stairway, between the third and fourth floors. Huddled against each other on the concrete stairs, they started their process. The heroin was placed into a spoon and heated up with a cigarette lighter. The powder form soon transitioned into liquid and bubbled under the flame. The female was the first to tie a shoelace around her upper arm to cause her vein to bulge. She then took the syringe and drew the liquid heroin from the spoon and injected the poison into her arm. With the product now flowing through her system, she needed only to sit back and allow its effect to work on her like it always did. She untied the shoelace from around her arm and handed it to her male partner. He was next. He mirrored her same actions, injecting the poison into his bloodstream.
For a moment, they felt peace, and they felt near ecstasy. And then it happened. Something was wrong. The female reacted first. Her skin got very pale right before her breathing became shallow. Soon she was struggling to pull air through her nose. Her pulse grew weak as her blood pressure dropped. She was disoriented and drowsy as she sat on the concrete stairs.
“This shit got me . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence. Her eyelids slowly lowered and she went into a full-on dope-fiend-lean that was interrupted when her body thrust into a violent seizure. Her body jerked uncontrollably, each limb moving in different directions, slamming against the concrete with hard thrusts. Her mouth foamed as her eyes rolled back in her head. The pain she felt was incomprehensible as her insides felt like they had been doused in gasoline and ignited. The female wanted it to stop; she took heroin to take away her pain, not induce it.
The male user was horrified by the scene. Her movements were blowing his high. He tried to scurry away so he could enjoy his dope in peace, but then he, too, fell ill. His violent seizure was only moments away. His body slammed against the wall before jerking a few times. He went tumbling down the concrete stairs, hitting his head several times on his way down. His skull split open down to the white meat, but that wouldn’t be his cause of death. Unknown John and Jane Doe died on the scene from lethal doses of a street drug called Queen of New York.
A week later, three fiends died from hot doses on the lower east side of Manhattan, and a few days after their deaths, two more overdosed on a bad batch near 125th Street. Within weeks, bodies dropped all around Manhattan and the Bronx. The news called it a drug epidemic. Drug users were dropping like flies, from the Lower East Side through Castle Hill. The sudden overdoses of dozens of fiends were setting the culture and the community back three decades.
New York was a state in crisis, and something had to be done. In response to public outcry from Manhattan and Bronx residents, the mayor put together a task force to combat the war on drugs.
20
Touch had texted Apple several times since the night they hooked up, and she never texted him back. He wasn’t used to pursuing a woman and had to admit she had him fucked up. The sex was good, real good, and he had a hard time believing that she was getting fucked by someone better than him in bed. So what was it? He wasn’t an average looking dude and could pull any woman he pushed up on. Touch had to admit that Apple’s platinum pussy had him bugging. He sent one more text, hoping he could get her to respond.
I want 2 see u in the daylight. Text me ur address. Be ready at 11. Dress comfortable. If u don’t reply then a nigga gonna move on.
To his delight and surprise, she hit him right back with her address.
Touch didn’t want to be too forward by going up to Apple’s apartment door. He wasn’t ready to see how she lived—if she was nice and nasty, junky, disorganized, or if she had OCD. All those intimate details are best unfolded as feelings grow. He wanted to do things differently with her; take things slow now that they had gotten the sex out of the way. He stood in front of her building and texted her to come downstairs. Ten minutes later she stood before him sexy as ever in a one-piece jumper that hugged her curves and six-inch stilettos. Her ha
ir hung seductively down her back in loose curls, and her face was natural with red lipstick and mascara from Fenty beauty.
“You look gorgeous,” he said. “But we’re going to have to tweak a few things.”
“Excuse me?” Apple said. She looked down at her outfit, which took her hours to settle on after trying on almost half her closet.
He grabbed Apple’s hand and walked toward the corner. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
His hand clasped into hers was different—unfamiliar—but she liked it. Apple allowed herself to be led to what she thought was his vehicle. When they kept walking and turned the corner, she asked, “Where are we going? Where’s your car?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Fair enough,” he replied as they kept walking. “We’re going in here.” Touch pointed to the sneaker store now just a few feet in front of them.
“What? Why?”
Touch held the door open, and Apple slid into the air-conditioned space that was virtually empty this time of day. The air conditioning was a bit cold for September, but they wouldn’t be inside for long. She sat down and looked at Touch’s Jordans and figured that he was showing off. He was about to buy himself a pair of kicks; maybe pull out a wad of cash to impress her. She was losing interest fast. Impatiently she asked, “How long is this going to take?” as he perused each aisle.
“Not long at all,” he called back. “Have patience, Queen.”
That last line put a smile on her face. That nigga recognized her excellence. Apple watched as he chitchatted with a salesperson and then strolled back over to where she was seated. He sat next to her, and she inhaled his cologne. It was a new scent and she liked it.
The female walked over to them with a sneaker box and a pair of white socks in her hands. When she kneeled down, Touch said, “I’ll do it.”
He took the box and leaned down next to the puzzled Apple.
“What’s this?”
Touch was already unbuckling her heel as he explained. “I asked you to dress comfortably because what I have planned is a full day of activities, and I don’t want to give you an excuse to leave me—I mean, leave the date—early complaining that your feet hurt.”
As he spoke, he admired her beautiful pedicure as he rolled the sock onto her dainty feet. Next, he put on and laced up the old school Pumas. Apple didn’t mention this, but she had the same pair. And how was he able to correctly guess her shoe size? Apple wore a woman’s size six and a boy’s four.
“I could have gone upstairs to change. I do own sneakers . . . You didn’t have to do this.”
“But I wanted to.”
As he placed the second Puma on her foot, she had to admit to herself that this was turning her on. He had captured her interest, and now it seemed as though he would keep it.
Touch placed her heels in the sneaker box and pulled out a C-note to tip the saleswoman. “Hold these for her? She’ll pick them up in the morning.”
The moment they exited the store, Touch slid his hand into hers, and they were back to strolling the block, hand in hand. Once again, Apple looked for his vehicle and wondered where he would take her. As the subway station grew near she voiced her thoughts.
“Are we taking the train?” She didn’t know she came off bougie, but she did.
“We are.”
“C’mon, now. My car is literally across the street.”
“I’m a man, Apple. Let me do this my way, and if you have a miserable time, then you’ll just have to give me a second date to make up for the first one.”
He smiled and she did too. Fuck it, she thought. There were worse things than New York transit.
Turns out they only rode the train a few stops from SoHo to Midtown. When they got above ground Touch led her to a group of people waiting in a small crowd. Apple was going to ask more questions but allowed things to unfold in real time as opposed to getting ahead of his plans.
“I guess now is a good as time as any to ask if you have a girlfriend.” Apple didn’t know where that came from. This wasn’t her. Even if he did have a special someone, that didn’t have anything to do with her. She wondered if she sounded insecure.
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
She nodded.
“Are you spontaneous, Apple? I hope so, ’cause that’s me all day.”
“It depends. I mean . . . I’m not down for whatever, but I do like to have fun.”
Just then, the double-decker bus pulled up, and Apple realized that they were about to go sightseeing around the city. She hated to admit it, but her interest was piqued. Still, she said, “This us?”
“First class everything,” he joked.
“Then we better get the best seats!” Apple said and pushed her way through the crowd to ensure they got seats on the top level. Once there, she couldn’t describe the excitement she felt. She was a native New Yorker, but the idea of sightseeing was awesome. And, most importantly, it was a first. Usually, a date with a new dude was dinner and maybe a movie and then eventually you fucked.
Once seated, Apple looked over at Touch and just grinned. “I like this,” she said.
“The tour hasn’t begun yet.”
“I know, but I wanna say right now that I’m having an amazing time.”
Just as Apple and Touch were connecting, Kola called. Apple promptly sent her to voicemail, and Kola responded by sending her a barrage of angry texts. Kola threatened to beat the shit out of Apple if she didn’t come and pick up the kids. Apple shut off her phone, but not before noticing that Touch’s jaw tightened. He assumed that the exchange concerned another man.
The sightseeing tour bus was only the first on his list of activities. The second stop was the Empire State Building’s observatory, and the last was the Statue of Liberty. Apple couldn’t believe that she was born and raised in New York and had never gone to those sights. While on the ferry boat heading toward Ellis Island, Apple got cold. Touch watched as she ran her hands up and down her arms.
“You cold?” he asked.
She nodded.
Without a second thought, Touch pulled his hoodie over his head, leaving only his white t-shirt underneath.
“I can’t. Then you’ll be cold.”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
“You sure?”
He was already helping pull the sweatshirt over her head. It nearly swallowed up her petite body, but she instantly felt better. The warmth from the shirt made her feel cozy and safe. Without warning, Touch leaned in and gave her candy apple red lips a quick kiss. Her lips were soft. He pulled Apple in under his strong arm, and she snuggled up close.
When they arrived back at Apple’s apartment, she invited him upstairs. She was ready for another sex session, but he declined. He wanted more.
“I’ll call you,” he said. “Pick up when I do.”
21
Touch was inside his father’s rent-controlled apartment in Spanish Harlem eating a vegan meal prepared by his father’s longtime partner, Gabriel. Gabriel was tall and lean, and his blond hair with hints of gray was cropped short. Touch assessed that Gabriel was the feminine one in the relationship, a replacement for his mother, as Gabriel walked around the apartment in long, flowing robes and furry slippers and had effeminate gestures. He was a pretty man by anyone’s beauty standards and had an equally pure heart. Touch was eavesdropping on his father and Gabriel’s conversation from the kitchen.
“I’m disgusted by this. My god, so many people,” Gabriel cried out as he read the daily newspaper. The headline on the front page read: Drug Overdose Death Toll Continues to Soar.
Gabriel and Jorge were in the living room of their cluttered apartment, and they were seated in their favorite wingback recliners. Gabriel was glued to the paper while his partner Jorge was reading The Walking Dead comic boo
k. For both men, it was a nice and quiet Sunday evening. They had a routine. Earlier, they’d gone to church and then went food shopping for the week. Gabriel would come home and prepare a vegan meal, and then Touch would come over for dinner. It was usually peaceful, with some jazz music playing in the background.
“What are you disgusted by, Gabriel?” Jorge asked. “What are you reading about?”
“There’s a new drug in Harlem that’s killing people, even in our own neighborhood. They’re calling it ‘Queen of New York.’ Did you read this?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Gabriel passed Jorge the article. It read that in the past month, at least three dozen people had died of drug overdoses. The city’s drug problem was spiraling out of control. Uncut heroin laced with fentanyl continued to drive the death toll higher.
“It’s terrible news,” Gabriel added.
Jorge scanned through the article. Like Gabriel, he became upset. “How can our city—our law enforcement—allow this to happen? This feels like the eighties!”
“We have to do something about this,” Gabriel said.
“Us? Are you crazy, Gabriel? What can we do besides get ourselves killed too?” Jorge cautioned. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’d lose it.”
“We can’t just sit here on our comfortable asses while there’s a problem out there, Jorge. I mean, this is happening right outside our front door.”
“Trust me, this will be dealt with,” Jorge replied.
“By who? The police? The vigilante? People are dying out there from this drug while dealers are getting rich. This isn’t right,” he fussed.
“I understand your anger, but who are we? It’s just you and I, Gabriel, and it’s not like we have some kind of superpower to fight what’s going on out there. You know my health is failing me, and you’re no spring chicken. We’re not The Huntsman. We’re not vigilantes, so how can we help? It’s a problem for the authorities.”
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