Street Soldier 2

by Silhouettes

  I rubbed my hand down my face, really and truly not wanting to go this route again. My entire life had been about robbing, shooting, fighting, and killing. I was tired of that shit, but I knew these cats that had Mama wasn’t playing. “Why can’t we just take G a hundred grand and see if he’ll roll with that? I ain’t feelin’ that robbery shit, and with that kind of money lying around, you know that brotha got a li’l somethin’ for protection. What if we get up in there and get our damn heads blown off? That just seems like a big risk, and when we’re so close to havin’ all of the money, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “So close? If we go by what you say you got, we still need fifty or seventy-five Gs. Where in the hell do you think we gon’ get it from, the sky? And if you use all of yo’ money, then what you gon’ do? Close the laundromat and the liquor store? You have to keep up with the rent, don’t you? You’ll be takin’ every dime you got to pay the rent. What you gon’ have for yourself? All I’m sayin’ is Ernie trusts me. I can get us on the inside, and you can handle it from there. He doesn’t know you, and I can say that you’re my long-lost son from California.”

  I still didn’t like the plan, but maybe it was my only way. I reached for one of Raylo’s fries and put it into my mouth. “Let me sleep on this and get back with you. I just don’t know about this, Raylo, I seriously do not know what to do.”

  “Don’t sleep on it for long. Again, time is runnin’ out and the next time you go pay that fool G a visit, we go together. He needs to know that you’re not in this shit by yourself, and if he thinks about playin’ any games, this shit can turn on him in a flash.”

  I stood up, nodding my head. I told Raylo I would call him early in the morning with my decision.

  By the time I got home, I didn’t feel like opening up the liquor store, or chilling at the laundromat. I went upstairs, and as I started to knock on Jenay’s door to finish what we’d started earlier, I changed my mind about that too. I stuck my key in the door, removed my clothes, and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat on my weight bench. I started to pump iron, growling out loudly each time I strained to raise the heavy bar. I couldn’t help but think about what I’d gotten myself into, and about what more was coming my way. Either this thing with Raylo would go smoothly, or there was a possibility that it could all blow up in our faces.

  I debated almost all night, doing the math in my head and trying to figure out how much cash I had on hand, and what I could sell to come up with the rest. Truthfully, I had enough, but it would leave me with a couple of thousand that wouldn’t go too far after rent was paid on my apartment, the liquor store, and the laundromat. I even thought about selling the laundromat, since it brought in less money than the liquor store. Still, it was money that I needed, so giving up on it didn’t make much sense. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, and as it got later, I put on some clothes and sat up on my couch. I rolled a fat-ass joint, sucked in the smoke, and did my best to get high. My whole apartment was infused with the smell of burnt weeds and my eyelids were getting heavy. The heavier they got, my mind started moving in another direction. I closed my eyes, thinking about Poetry standing naked in my apartment earlier today. Daaaaamn, she was sexy, and what in the hell was wrong with me for turning down a chick that fine? She was so sweet in her own little way, and from the first time that I laid eyes on her, I wanted her. Not just sexually, either. I liked that toughness about her and I needed a chick like her who could stand up when something wasn’t right. She proved how brave she could be when she confronted fatso that day, she proved how bold she could be when she stepped up and kissed me at Fair St. Louis, and she also proved to me that she was a fighter; that when she wanted something she had no problem going after it. I liked that about her, and even though my life was fucked up right now, maybe she was what I needed.

  Then again, maybe it was this fire-ass weed talking for me. I was filling my head with a bunch of nonsense, wasn’t I? A woman would run if she knew about what I’d done or what I was capable of doing. There were times that I had no mercy for people who fucked me over, and that included women. Poetry wouldn’t dare want to be a part of my life, but she really didn’t have to know about all of it, did she?

  With that in mind, I reached for my phone and pulled Poetry’s number from my pocket. I dialed her number, assuming it was she who answered.

  “Poetry,” I said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Prince.”

  “Who?”

  “You heard me. Where you at?”

  “At home. Are you coming over?”

  “If you still want me to.”

  “I want you to, only if you didn’t make it your business to hook up with Jenay when you got back home. I wouldn’t be down with that, and you can forget coming over here if you got your rocks off with her tonight.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I didn’t go there tonight. When I got back, all I did was shower, lift some weights, and think about you.”

  She laughed, then went silent. “Bullshit. You wasn’t thinking about me. And if you were, swear it. And when you get here I’ma make you pinky swear it, too. You better be telling the truth.”

  I blushed a little, knowing that she was smiling on the other end. “I was, ma. You know I was. Now, stop talkin’ so much and give me your address.”

  “I will, once you swear it.”

  “Okay, I swear I didn’t go to Jenay’s apartment tonight and I’ve been sitting here thinkin’ ’bout you. Now, stop playin’ and up the directions.”

  Poetry gave me her address. I told her I’d be there within the hour.

  Deciding to drive my motorcycle that was parked in my landlord’s garage, I weaved in and out of traffic down Union Boulevard and on to Page. Poetry’s house was to my left. It was an old red brick house that had a big porch. A swing was on the porch and the concrete steps were painted gray. Dressed in my pressed Levi’s and a blue tank shirt that hugged my muscles, I removed my helmet and stepped up to the porch. The screen door was hanging off the hinges, so instead of opening it to knock, I rang the tiny doorbell next to the door. Poetry opened the door wearing her faded, torn jeans and a yellow spaghetti-strap top that showed her midriff.

  “This is a miracle,” she said, blushing. “I can’t believe you’re here for real. Let me pinch you to make sure it’s really you.”

  I cracked a tiny smile, cocking my head back. “I told you to stop playin’, didn’t I?”

  Poetry squinted, then moved her face close to mine. She lifted my tinted shades and shook her head. “You high as hell, ain’t you? Your eyes are red as fire. I should have known that you were on something when you called me.”

  “Are you goin’ to invite me in, or make me stand outside?”

  Poetry came outside, closing the door behind her. It was almost eight o’clock, and even though the sun had gone down, it wasn’t completely dark yet.

  “I would invite you in, but my grandmother just went to sleep. She don’t like to be interrupted by people talking, and if we pass by the living room, we’ll wake her up. We can stay out here on the porch, but I can go inside to get you something to drink if you want something.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said, sitting on the swing. “I guess this way I can keep an eye on my bike, and make sure nobody don’t try to steal it.”

  Poetry looked at my bike, then sat on the swing with me. “That’s a really nice bike, but I like your Camaro. What year is it?”

  “2010. I bought it brand new, but I didn’t feel like drivin’ it tonight. My motorcycle is much better, though. And you’ll think so too, after I take you for a ride.”

  Poetry pulled her head back. “You won’t be taking me for no ride. I’m scared of those things. They make me nervous.”

  “I can’t believe you’re scared of anything, and even if you are, you’ll be safe with me. Come on,” I said, standing up and putting on my helmet. She hesitated, but agreed to let me take her for a
ride.

  I helped Poetry straddle my bike, then took my helmet off and put it on her head. “What you gon’ use for your big head?” she said, laughing. “Don’t you need a helmet too?”

  “I do, but I’ll be all right. Just hang on tight and don’t let go.”

  I got on my motorcycle, and as soon as I started it up, Poetry grabbed me tight. “Prince, don’t be driving all fast and stuff. Go slow, all right?”

  “Sure,” was all I said. I revved up the engine, doing a U-turn on Page Boulevard, heading west. At first, at the request of Poetry, I went slow. But when her grip loosened up, I started flying down Page. The wind was hitting us with a mild force, and as I weaved in and out of lanes, Poetry squeezed tighter.

  “Oh my God,” she yelled. “Prince, slow the hell doooooown!”

  I took off, breezing through the green lights that gave me the go ahead, and ignoring Poetry’s screams. “Damn it!” she yelled. “Look ... look at that caaar coming! It’s not gon’ stooooop!”

  I saw the car, but I had the green light, so I kept it moving. Poetry wasn’t about to loosen her grip, but she kept pressing her head against my back and screaming. She got so mad at me for going so fast that she bit the shit out of me. That made me go even faster, and as we reached a red light on Skinker, that’s when I finally stopped. “I’m getting off of this thing and walking home,” she shouted. “You are going too damn fast and I’m not trying to die on this thing with you. This is too much and I’ma bite yo’ ass again if you go any faaaaaaster!”

  I took off, zooming down the street so fast that if you blinked you missed us. “Prince, this shit ain’t funny!” Poetry yelled at the top of her lungs. “I’m going to throw up, and when I do, I’ma do it right on top of your head!”

  I still didn’t slow down, as going this fast was fun and gave me one hell of a rush. Yeah, it was dangerous, but I liked living on the edge. And whether Poetry was willing to admit it or not, I could tell she was enjoying herself, or, at least, I hoped.

  Ready to turn around, I cut over Pennsylvania Avenue and picked up speed. I knew the cops in this area were known for tripping, but I didn’t see any so I kept it moving. This time, though, a car that was coming our way cut in front of me. As fast as I was going, I couldn’t stop. “Jesus, save me please!” Poetry yelled. “I will never get on this bike with this damn fool again, Lord, and it was so stupid of me tooooooooooo!”

  I quickly swerved in the other lane, causing the motorcycle to lean. And instead of squeezing my waist, Poetry grabbed my dick. She squeezed that motha so tight, it caused my eyes to bug. “Slow this damn thing down,” she said, yanking on my package. That shit really did hurt, and the speed of the motorcycle jumped from ninety-five mph to thirty-five mph in an instant. After that, I pulled over, because my dick was hurting.

  “That is not how you get me to slow down!” I said, holding myself down below. “I almost flipped this motherfucka over and yo’ ass is lucky that I didn’t.”

  She pulled the helmet off her head. Beads of sweat were on her forehead and she wiped them with her hand. “I had to do what was necessary for you to slow this thing down. Have you lost your mind? I thought you were going to go nice and slow with me on the back of here, and who in the hell do you think I am? Some kind of biker bitch or something? This is my first time on one of these things, and I’m about to have a serious heart attack.”

  “You ain’t no fun,” I said, taking the helmet from her hand. “I figured you would like the rush and with all of that yellin’ and screamin’ you was doin’, I know that shit felt good.”

  “If you want me to yell and scream, come up with something better. I know you can, and it shouldn’t have nothing to do with this bike.”

  I smiled from the thoughts of making Poetry yell and scream like I really wanted her to. She smiled too, and I assumed she had read my mind. “Let’s go get somethin’ to eat,” I said. “I’m hungry, what about you?”

  “I could eat a li’l something. What you got in mind?”

  “You ever eat at the Fried Rice Kitchen in Wellston? They shit be off the chain. Let’s stop there.”

  “I’ve had them before. I’m down with that, but please do me one favor. I assume you already know what it is, but just in case you don’t, please do not go over thirty miles per hour.”

  “Thirty?” I shouted. “That defeats the purpose of bein’ on a motorcycle. I can do forty for you, but no less than that.”

  She took the helmet from me, putting it back on her head. “I guess I can work with that, but if you go past that, I’m squeezing the Charmin again. Hard.”

  Poetry hugged my waist again, and as I made my way down Pennsylvania Avenue going slow, she started rubbing my chest. “See what happens when you play by the rules?” she said. Her hands eased up my chest and she rubbed and softly squeezed at my muscles. “You know you hooked up right, Prince. Your skin so soft and you cut in all the right places. Umph, umph, umph,” she said and kept on rubbing. When we got to the stoplight to make a right on Dr. Martin Luther King Drive I turned my head to the side.

  “You pretty damn hooked up right too,” I said. “But if I can recall something that you said awhile back, you said my package wasn’t capable of satisfyin’ you, didn’t you? I hope like hell you don’t have to eat your words.”

  She giggled. “I said that to hurt your feelings, but I wasn’t talking about your package right now. I was talking about your chest, so don’t be trying to change the subject.”

  I took off, slowing it down so Poetry would enjoy herself. When we got to the Fried Rice Kitchen, we both went inside to order. Several people stood along the wall, waiting for their orders. I asked Poetry what she wanted, and hated to pull out my stash of money in front of everybody to pay for our food.

  “I’ll take a half order of shrimp fried rice with gravy and a strawberry Vess soda.”

  I ordered our food and carefully watched my back as I flipped through the stash in my hand. I paid, then hurried to put the wad back into my pocket. Always being paranoid about my surroundings, I waited for our food outside with Poetry. We stood by my bike talking while our food got ready.

  “You know you never told me how old you are,” I said. “Where do you work, and do you have any kids?”

  “I never told you because every time I get close to you, you ran away. I’m twenty-one, don’t have no kids, and if I had a job do you think I’d be begging you for one? I’ve been trying to find one, though, but it’s been kind of rough for me because I dropped out of school and never got my GED. That’s one of the real reasons I’ve been bugging you at the laundromat and I need some money. Besides, you need somebody to handle your business for you, ’cause you so unfriendly that you’re going to drive people away.”

  “I take it you’re being funny, but why you drop out of school? I did too, but I was still able to do some things to put me on the right track. I dropped out because I couldn’t get along with my coach and school didn’t challenge me no more.”

  “I dropped out because I was having some family problems. My mother is ... was a crackhead and she made my life so damn miserable. I wound up moving in with my grandmother and she’s been taking care of me for years. Then I had a situation where my uncle kept trying to hit on me, and when I ran away, I met this dude named Anthony who I thought really cared for me. I caught him cheating on me, then he went off to the army and married somebody else. My whole world was turned upside down and school was the last place I wanted to be. I regret not going back, but I am going to someday get my GED.”

  It seemed like Poetry had been through some shit too, and I was sure there was nothing worse than having a crackhead for a parent. “Where your father at? And maybe we can work somethin’ out about you workin’ for me.”

  Poetry smiled, then rolled her eyes. “I hope we can work something out, but as for my father, I have no idea who he is. My mother was all over the place and ain’t no telling what man out here laid a seed in her to have me. All I know is I was bo
rn in Alabama, and I guess he still lives there. He probably don’t know nothing about me, but even if he did, I’m not sure if it really matters. For years, it’s just been me and my grandmother. She’s the only mother I know and will forever know.”

  Her situation reminded me too much of Romeo’s, except his mother was in jail. His grandmother died a few months before he was sentenced, but he counted on her, just like Poetry seemed to count on her grandmother. My mind had eased a bit from all that was going on with me, but as Poetry and I talked about family, I couldn’t help but think about Mama. Damn, what was I going to do? I had put the only way out of this with Raylo behind me for now, but there it was staring me right in the face. Thank God for Poetry helping me to clear my mind tonight as I tried to focus on her alone.

  We got our food that was put into a brown paper bag. I slowly drove back to Poetry’s house, and as we rode, she laid her head against my back. Her hands continued to stroke my chest, and I’d be lying if I said her touch didn’t feel good. When I pulled in front of her house, she got off my bike and removed the helmet. She reached for her box of rice and told me she would be right back. I waited for her to return, and since I was hot, I pulled my shirt over my head and tucked part of it into my back pocket. I removed my box of rice from the bag, assuming that Poetry had gone inside to get us some forks, even though plastic ones were in the bag. When she came back outside, she was empty-handed. She straddled my bike again, and I turned around to face her.

  “Where your food at?” I asked.

  “I gave it to my grandmother.”

  “Why you didn’t ask me to buy her somethin’? Now, what you gon’ eat?”