No Love for the Wicked

by Tiana Laveen

  “What I think about what? About more boys needed in the family? A healthy baby of any gender is a blessing to me.”

  “No, not that. Do you think LeAnn is having a boy or a girl?”

  “Ohhh, Auntie, you know I don’t like to predict that kinda stuff!” She laughed. “I just—”

  “You’ve been right more times than wrong about this sort of thing. Just tell me. I promise I won’t say anything.”

  Andrea grimaced, knowing that was a lie. Auntie had a heart of gold, but would tell your business before the last sentence had even left your mouth.

  “You told me you didn’t like me doing this sort of thing.”

  “I don’t. I don’t have to like or understand everything you or the rest of my children do.” Aunt Bev usually called Andrea her daughter, rather than a niece. Besides, she’d been practically a baby when she’d moved in with them. “I accept your choices, though. You know that. Boy or girl?”

  “…A boy.”

  “AAAAA HAAAA! I knew it!” The woman rolled around in her seat, laughing hysterically, and causing Andrea to smile, too. “It’s about time! She done had three girls in a row. Three bad ass girls. Just as pretty as they wanna be, though.”

  “Yeah, they’re really cute.”

  “They look just like me, especially Darnell. Kecia is the smartest one though. She got that from me, too.” Andrea chuckled. “Hopefully LeAnn will stay with this boy she’s with now, Andrea.” The woman sucked her teeth. “His name is Maurice. He has a decent job and seems to treat her well. She left Ulysses, then Todd, only a few months after they’d started dating. It was too late though. She was already pregnant. Todd is the father of the last two, ya know. He’s half White, but got an afro big as Texas. It’s nappy, too. You met him, didn’t you? He was at Gertrude’s sixtieth birthday party.”

  “Yes, I met Todd. He seemed nice.”

  “Now, I’ll admit that Ulysses was a nice lookin’ dude, but was a jive ass turkey. He didn’t do shit but live off of her, and he cheated with a bunch of broads, too, but Todd? Now that was a good man.”

  “Why’d they break up?”

  “She said he was boring. Can you believe that?! LeAnn isn’t happy, Andrea, unless she got some fool up under her! If the guy ain’t worth a damn, then she wants him. Guaranteed. I love my daughter, the Lord knows I do, ’Drea, but when it comes to men, she’s about as smart as a wad of gum stuck beneath a desk.”

  Andrea held back the urge to laugh. She surely didn’t want to encourage Aunt Bev, get her started. Aunt Bev had had plenty of children with her uncle. Yet, despite the fact she and Andrea did not share a blood relationship, Aunt Bev was the woman she regarded as a mother.

  “You ever talk to my uncle Ron lately?” Andrea hadn’t spoken to Uncle Ronald in a couple of years. He tended to drift from place to place, and ever since he’d gotten hooked on heroin in 1968, the family barely knew his whereabouts. Word had it that he was now using cocaine at an alarming rate, and had almost OD’d several times.

  “Nah, baby.” She turned around and noted her aunt digging in her purse and sadly shaking her head. “I haven’t spoken to him in almost a year. He stopped by last Christmas, but I didn’t let him in. He was sweating real bad and looking wild in the eyes. He scared me. He was asking to come inside and visit. I lied and told him my boyfriend was there, and turned him away. I know he just wanted to get some money. I had some of my grandbabies in there playing and watching cartoons. He’s still a junkie, ’Drea. I don’t know what he’s on nowadays, but he’s definitely on something. He’s dying a bit faster than the rest of us. In fact, he may already be dead.”

  Andrea slowly faced forward again, her stomach knotting. Uncle Ronald had struggled most of his life, according to Auntie. If he wasn’t trying to find decent income to take care of his ever-growing family, then it was the pressures of society—just trying to make it. She’d liked her Uncle Ronald, though honestly, he was a fairly quiet man. Never said a whole lot. She didn’t know what he liked and didn’t like, and couldn’t describe his personality. Now, as an adult, Andrea figured he may not have spoken up often, but on the inside, he was a time bomb, loud as could be.

  He’d also been the only one of her family members who’d volunteered to take her in after her parents passed away. He and Aunt Bev had insisted, despite having so many children of their own, including one in the oven at the time. It had been crowded and crazy during those days in her life, but she’d grown up strong and grateful. They’d been poor, and had sometimes gone to bed hungry, but love abounded. Every birthday, there’d be a home-made cake and at least one toy, even if it was from the five and dime store. It would be wrapped in pretty paper and presented with a great big bow.

  Aunt Bev would have all of the children do drawings and make birthday cards each time one of their birthdays rolled around. There’d be music and balloons, and ice cream, too. They’d make a way out of no way.

  Soon, they arrived at their destination. Andrea paid the cab driver and the two climbed out the car, giddy, arm in arm. Thelma Houston’s, ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ poured out of the radio from a nearby magazine stand. They began their hunt for treasures and gifts for the upcoming holidays. After about twenty minutes of finding nothing worthy with the exception of some chocolate chip cookies in pretty tin boxes, they headed into a store and purchased a couple sodas to quench their thirst. Aunt Bev was telling everyone’s business, usually the bad stuff, causing Andrea to laugh, yet feel bad at the same time for finding the way Auntie told the tales amusing, and enjoying the gossip, too.

  “That’s where Carmen lives.” She pointed ahead to a brownstone. “She always has the black pepper I like, and she sells her old high heels. We wear the same size. Carmen used to be a dancer. Maybe you’ll find some threads, if she’s selling any, for when you and your little hot stuff friends go out to the disco.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. I’m always looking for something special.” Her aunt nodded in agreement. Off they went towards the home. On their way, a Puerto Rican man with slick black and silver hair and one lazy eye approached Aunt Bev. He was loud, and by the way he wobbled around, he was drunk as could be, too. It was obvious to Andrea that back in his day, he’d been probably quite handsome – before the drugs and alcohol had taken him down.

  “A, I know you! Bevuhlee! How’ve been doin’, baby?” He stumbled about, barely able to hold his cigarette straight.

  Aunt Beverly put her hand on her hip and winced.

  “Luis, I haven’t seen you since, I think, 1972. It’s been a long time. I see you’ve been treating yourself like a trashcan. And smellin’ like one, too. What do you want?”

  The man burst out laughing, exposing a missing front tooth beneath his scraggly mustache.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while, foxy lady, but I never fuhget a face! Ohhh weee! You still look good, baby.” He offered a sinister grin, doused in lust. “’Member that time I came by, licked all up and down your big, black, bouncy ass, and we—”

  “Hush up. My daughter is standing here,” Auntie stated sternly. Andrea ran her tongue along her upper lip to keep from laughing. The man’s eyes shifted to her, then back to Aunt Bev.

  “She can join in, too!” He burst out laughing again, this time all by himself.

  “Don’t nobody wanna join you in anything but to turn the water on for you to take a bath. Full fuckin’ blast, on yo’ funky ass.”

  “I just need a little help, sugar. A little dough. Hey, baby, you got some bread I can hold? Maybe your pretty daughter does?”

  “No,” she spat, her tone short. “We don’t have nothing for you.”

  “What about—”

  “I don’t have anything for you, Luis.”

  “Come on now, girl! Remember all the good times we had? I know you got a little pocket change on you, damn it!” His tone turned desperate, rigid with anger and the pressure of hurting bad if he didn’t get his next fix.

  “Don’t ask me for shit. I ain’
t got nothing on me, and don’t you dare fix your mouth to speak to my child again, and ask her for a dime. Don’t ask me for no pussy, either.” Her eyes shifted about as she spoke through gritted teeth, as if that in some way made it more of a whisper, and hard to hear. “I left that at home, too.”

  Andrea burst out laughing and turned away.

  “You left your pussy at home?” The man’s brow rose, as if he were genuinely confused, trying to figure it all out.

  “I sure as hell did, Luis. The only thing I got on me right now is a pistol. You want some of that? I’m more than happy to share!”

  The man huffed and cursed, then stomped off. Andrea was laughing so hard, her stomach began to hurt.

  “Baby, you’ll have to forgive your Auntie Bev. I had a weak moment many, many years ago after your uncle and I divorced, so I slept with that fool. Luis was fine as wine back then, but I tell you what, if you want a good screw, baby, get you an Average Joe, or an ugly man. These pretty mothafuckas can’t fuck. It was the worst two and a half seconds of my life.”

  Andrea was done for now, barely able to stand up as the giggles took over.

  “Girl, when you laugh, you look just like your mother.” Aunt Bev grinned.

  Andrea’s laughter slowly subsided, and so did her smile.

  “You know Claudia looked just like Diahann Carroll. Your mama and that woman were practically splitting images of each other. Claudia was so pretty… God bless her, and rest her soul.” Aunt Bev looped her arm around hers and gave her a squeeze.

  They walked a few more feet, then Andrea paused.

  “Auntie, can I tell you something?”

  “Yes. What is it, honey?”

  “I know everyone said that my parents died in a car accident while driving back from Jersey, but that never sat right with me. It always bothered me. Is that really all that happened?”

  Aunt Beverly looked at her real strange.

  “Yes, baby, that’s all that happened. It was an unfortunate tragedy. The weather was bad, and there were lots of accidents that evening all over town. I’m just thankful you weren’t in the car with them. You were home sick with a babysitter. God stepped in and saved you by giving you a cold, as far as I was concerned. Now, come on. We’ve got some shopping to do. Maybe Carmen will have that oil sheen for your itchy scalp…”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Straight Shooter

  Rule 11: Keep Your Word.

  …A few days later

  “Fred, I’m tellin’ ya not to go over there. They’ll chew you up and spit you out.” Angelo leaned against the white wall, holding a cigarette in one hand and the restaurant phone in the other. He and an old colleague had agreed to meet for lunch at Lanza’s Restaurant on 1st Avenue, in the East Village. Fred had called him there, knowing his schedule for the day, saying it was important. Turned out to be a hair-brained scheme ol’ Freddy boy wanted his blessing on. He could forget about it.

  “Do you realize how much money I could make, man?! My wife, the kids… I could be set up for life, Angelo. Never have to work in another warehouse again.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Ya think they’re gonna promise you that kinda dough and not want anything in return? These are not the kinda guys you wanna get involved with, Fred. They’re fuckin’ animals. Wild dogs hunting for fresh meat.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Patrick is a standup guy!”

  “Oh, really? Why in the fuck did ya call me then? Interrupt me while I’m out?”

  Fred huffed on the other end.

  “I just wanted your opinion.”

  “Nah, you wanted me to say ‘go for it.’ Well, the joke’s on you.”

  “Okay, cool it, would jah? Just listen. I have experience, ya dig?”

  “Experience? You’re not applyin’ to be the fuckin’ milkman.”

  “It won’t be long term. Just a couple times, maybe three. And you’re one to talk about wild dogs,” Fred whined. “You and I are friends, and God knows you’re a dog in a suit. Go ahead and bark.”

  Angelo smirked, took a puff of his cigarette, then placed it in the ashtray on a counter nearby.

  “Yeah? Well, I know how to handle myself around shmucks like them, and I may have some doggish ways, Fred, but I know not to bite the hand that feeds me. This isn’t the life for you, man. You were doing the small shit years ago, I understand it, but you were young and wanted a taste. I was born into this shit, Fred. You want to taste a slice of this razorblade pie, but I’m the recipe. You and I are not the same.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a good guy. Leave what you did back there, in the past. Don’t get in the mud with these guys.”

  “Angelo, I gotta just—”

  “You’ll never come out clean. Stay square. Play it safe.” He could hear Fred grumbling. Fred was no hustler, pimp, robber, mobster, killer, peddler, dealer or gangster. Hell, he could barely stand the sight of blood. He reflected on their outing at the tit club, and how Fred had looked as if he was going to piss himself. The world had changed since the bastard had dipped his toe in the black pond. The dark side of business.

  “This could be life changing, Angelo.”

  “Yeah. Being dead is life changin’, too. Permanently. That crew always has shit up their sleeve, man. I wouldn’t trust them to hold a dented tin can. Just ask my cousin, Luciano. Ya like Luciano, right? So if ya don’t believe me, try him out for size. He’s got no dog in the fight. He knows ’em well, works with ’em from time to time out of necessity, but keeps a safe distance. Patrick is the ring leader, as you know, but he’s a loser. He’s a fuckin’ drunk, like my brother.” From the nearest window, he observed a lady in a floppy black hat walk by. She looked a bit like his mother. “He has a hair trigger temper when intoxicated, so that’s most of the damn time. Luciano said he’s a fuckin’ loose cannon.”

  Luciano’s specialty business dealings revolved around illegal gambling – horse races, amateur boxing matches, things of that nature. He also moonlighted as a bodyguard. Sometimes small scale drug sales were involved, too. At times, the two jobs went hand-in-hand. His cousin knew a lot of damn people in the city, and so he also knew who not to trust. They were alike that way. People got black-balled all the time if word got around they’d stiffed someone, or tried to get one over.

  “It’s never a cuddly and cute time with them, Fred. Just stay the fuck away. For your own sake.”

  “Angelo, you always talk to me like I’m some chump, a fuckin’ kid.” Angelo reached behind him for a glass of Scotch and chugged it. “Just because I’ve known ya since we were in diapers doesn’t mean anything. I know how to take care of myself, and what do ya mean… don’t go over there and stay square? Who do ya think you’re talkin’ to?”

  “I mean exactly what the hell I said, and I’m evidently talkin’ to a fuckin’ idiot.” Angelo pulled up his white shirt sleeve and glanced at his watch. “You wanna talk about diapers, huh? You’ll end up in diapers all right, unable to control the shit comin’ outta your fuckin’ ass when they shoot ya in the spine for a measly thirty bucks. They have no fuckin’ respect. Not an ounce of integrity. They don’t follow any rules; there’s no family loyalty, no honor, principles, not a fuckin’ care in the world, Fred.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Men who don’t care are sloppy. They’re bound to fuck something important up, something that will land them in jail or pushin’ up daisies. These guys would sell their wives’ cunts to anyone wavin’ a cum-stained buck. They’re just a bunch of brainless punks with guns. You’re in over your head.”

  “Rich brainless punks. Don’t forget that part. I—”

  “Look, Pietro will be here any minute. You need to listen to me, Fred. This is serious.”

  Fred had dealt in drug trafficking on and off since they were teenagers. It started with marijuana, then Quaaludes, now cocaine. The problem was, the FEDs were watching everyone closely in the narcotic circles these days. Not because the
y gave a shit about morals, or the people dwelling in the ghettos getting high to help life go by, but they wanted a slice of the profit pie. If they couldn’t get fat off you, you’d be looking at twenty years in the penitentiary. Since Fred’s hours at his job had gotten cut back, he’d decided to dabble in distribution once more. Desperate. Angelo had already loaned him a significant sum of cash over the last six months, which he’d yet to pay back.

  Regardless, he wasn’t going to break Fred’s legs over it. He was a friend from back in the day, and one of the few people he could trust – but he made it clear that the bank of Angelo Ferrari was closed, and he’d need to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, like everyone else. Dealing with a local hood like Patrick Murphy, and his chump pal, Kasen Margo, a big-time supplier, wasn’t quite what Angelo had had in mind when he’d urged Fred to get his life in order. Murphy was careless and disorganized to the extreme, and the ring leader to a group of infamous meatheads who were planted all over the city in charge of delivering product, many of them strung out themselves. Now he wanted to add Fred to his flock of fools. His friend was too fucking naïve to see the ulterior motive. Murphy wanted him for his connections, and it had little to do with merit.

  “Ahhh, Angelo, ya worry too much, ya know? Besides, this isn’t your line of work. Ya don’t know much about it.”

  “I know enough. Don’t do this shit. Leave Murphy alone. He’s bad news. Look, I see Pietro comin’. We’re having a meeting, like I told you. I have to go. Watch your ass, Fred, before someone blows it to pieces. I can’t babysit you all fuckin’ day.”

  Disconnecting the call, he made his way over to a private dining room at the back of the restaurant that Pietro Puccini had reserved. Angelo had been there plenty of times to know the routine. Contrary to his specific request to come alone, Pietro had two other guys with him. Who the fuck are these clowns? Nevertheless, he played it cool when Pietro made his way over to him with a bright, overly friendly smile, then gave him a quick hug.