by K'wan
“I can’t argue with you there, because Animal has risked everything to keep me safe,” Gucci admitted.
“Yes, he has. Now, my question for you is, what are you prepared to do to keep him safe?” Kahllah asked.
“Anything,” Gucci said confidently. Animal was her heart.
“It’s easy to say it when it’s just the two of us having girl talk, but what happens when you have to prove it? What do you do when his enemies are scratching at the door, and the only choices are to kill or be killed?”
“I do whatever it takes,” Gucci said.
Kahllah regarded her for a few moments. She stood up and removed the gun from the holster clasped to the back of her pants and cocked the slide. Gucci watched nervously as Kahllah handed her the gun.
“What’s this all about?” Gucci asked.
“Shoot me,” Kahllah told her, shoving the gun into her hands.
“Kahllah, I ain’t playing this sick little game with you,” Gucci said.
“It ain’t no game, Gucci. Shoot me,” Kahllah repeated.
“Look, I’m not––”
“Gucci.” Kahllah drew a blade from her bra and popped it open. “One of two things is going to happen. You’re going to shoot me, or I’m going to cut your fucking throat.”
Gucci studied Kahllah’s face to see if she was serious. She was. When Gucci took too long to make up her mind, Kahllah moved in on her with the blade. Gucci raised the gun, finger hesitating on the trigger. She didn’t want to kill Kahllah, but she didn’t want to die, either. When it was clear to her that Kahllah intended on making good with her threat, Gucci pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
Kahllah slapped Gucci’s hand, sending the gun flying in the air. She fluidly moved behind Gucci and threw her into a choke hold, catching the gun with her free hand. She flicked the lever on the side of the pistol and dug the barrel into Gucci’s cheek. “If I was one of Shai Clark’s shooters, you’d be dead, all because you didn’t know to take the safety off first,” she whispered in Gucci’s ear.
Gucci shoved Kahllah off her and spun in anger. “What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem is that you don’t understand the seriousness of your situation. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention or not, but Animal isn’t going to let this thing with Shai go, and that’s your fault!”
“Animal is pressing the issue because he doesn’t want to leave his friends in harm’s way. You can’t put this on me!”
“The hell I can’t. My sucker-for-love-ass little brother came out of hiding because of you.” She jabbed her finger at Gucci’s chest. “He went at Shai Clark because of what happened to you.” She jabbed her again. “And he’s likely going to die because he loves you.” Her voice was heavy with emotion. Although they had only met twice, she had been watching Animal for years and felt an attachment to him.
“You act like I asked for this to happen!” Gucci shouted. Kahllah’s words cut her because of the truth in them. “I know I’m the cause of all this, but it’s out of my hands. What am I supposed to do, Kahllah?”
Kahllah turned the gun, butt first, and shoved it into Gucci’s chest, forcing her to take it. “When my brother’s enemies come for him, be more than just a pretty fucking face.”
“What’s going on?” Animal’s voice startled both of the girls. Neither of them had heard him come out of the bathroom. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of black fatigue pants and construction Timberlands, which were untied. The clothes were courtesy of Priest. He didn’t know his son, but he sure knew his style. Animal’s mop of curly hair was wet and hung down around his bare shoulders in tangled strands.
Kahllah’s eyes lingered on his chest a second longer than she intended, before answering, “Just having some girl talk.”
“With a pistol?” Animal asked, looking back and forth between them suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend, unless her hand calls for it,” Kahllah told Animal.
“She’s a bit more than a girlfriend, and you’d do well to keep that in mind.” Animal turned his attention to Gucci. “You good, ma?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, baby. Kahllah was just schooling me about firearms in case I ever needed to pop off,” Gucci said, holding the gun up like she was posing for an album cover.
Animal took the gun from her hand. “Guns are dangerous, and you don’t need to be fucking with them. Leave the artillery to me.” Animal gave the gun back to Kahllah. “She ain’t ’bout this life, and I’m not gonna force her into it.”
Kahllah spun the gun on her finger, before returning it to the holster expertly. “Wrong. You brought her into this life as soon as you started whacking people in her name, so don’t cry foul now, lover boy.”
“I ain’t crying foul, I’m just saying I wanna do everything I can to keep Gucci out of harm’s way,” Animal said.
“Bullshit.” Kahllah mock-coughed. “If that were the case, then you’d accept the blessing Priest has bestowed on you and vanish with her. You could ride off into the sunset, yet you chose to plunge head-first into a fire, after having already been burned twice. All for what, because you want to try and save a bunch of knuckleheads who’ll likely be dead by next summer anyhow? Priest always praises you for being intelligent, but I think you’re an idiot.”
“I don’t care what you think, nor do I expect a mercenary to understand loyalty,” Animal spat.
Kahllah smirked. “I understand loyalty far better than you ever will. When I took the vow, I pledged to put the will of my father and my Lord before all others, including myself. I have forsaken life and love to serve God, as my father has directed.”
Animal looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “So you mean to say that Priest has convinced you that murdering people is God’s will?” He shook his head. “I know I’m a little fucked up in the head, but you’re on another planet with it.”
“Animal, you will never understand, because you’ve not received the word,” Kahllah said seriously, “You haven’t been shown the light. While people like you pop bottles with rapists and killers, I smite them. Do I get paid for the bodies I drop? Absolutely, because praises for doing what must be done don’t pay bills. You call me a mercenary, but I am much more than that. I am the antidote to the sickness that has corrupted our society. I am the Black Lotus amongst the weeds.”
Animal saw the passionate look in Kahllah’s eyes when she spoke. It was as if Priest was speaking but through her lips. Obviously, he had been conditioning her from an early age. He had raised her with one purpose: taking lives. Animal tried to imagine what it would be like if their roles had been reversed, with him being nurtured by the killer instead of a base-head mother, and reasoned that he had gotten the better end of the deal than Kahllah. Animal had been through more than his share of hardships, but he at least had free will. Kahllah belonged to Priest, mind and body.
“You don’t get it.” Animal turned to walk away, and Kahllah appeared in front of him, blocking his path.
“Oh, but I do get it, Animal. You’re an honorable man, and I respect that about you, but there is no honor in suicide. The world thinking you’re really dead this time is the only thing you’ve got to your advantage. It puts the element of surprise on your side. Shai Clark isn’t some street punk; he’s the king of this city. Rushing back into the battle head-first will unquestionably be the death of you, and all this will have been for nothing.”
“So, I leave Ashanti and Zo to the dogs after they tried to help me?” Animal asked.
“Not at all, but going at Shai with guns blazing isn’t going to help anyone,” Kahllah said.
“Which is what I’ve been trying to tell him.” Priest appeared in the doorway. He had traded his robes for a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. “My wayward son is determined to see either the light or the darkness. I hope by the time we return from our little outing, I’ll be able to show him the light.”
“Whatever, nigga,” Animal said, pull
ing the thick black hoodie over his head. He turned to Gucci. “You gonna be OK here with her?” He nodded at Kahllah.
“I’ll be fine, you just hurry back.” Gucci kissed him on the lips.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her, Animal,” Kahllah promised.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Animal told her.
“My word is my bond.” Kahllah placed her hand over her heart dramatically.
“Kahllah will keep your lady safe,” Priest assured him. “Now, let’s go. We have a lot to cover, and time is not our friend.”
“So where are we going?” Animal asked.
“To a funeral,” Priest told him with a knowing smirk, and walked out.
Reluctantly, Animal followed Priest.
When he got to the door of the apartment, Kahllah called after him. “While you’re gone, I’ll check in on your comrade Ashanti. I know you’re worried,” she told him.
Animal smiled. “Thanks for that, Kahllah. I wonder what the little homie is up to.”
Kahllah shook her head. “Knowing him, probably mischief, as usual.”
FOUR
ASHANTI SAT IN THE PASSENGER seat of the rental car, watching the block from behind hooded eyes. Every so often, he would take a toke of the blunt pinched between his fingers. The weed was primo, so good that it stung his nostrils every time he blew smoke through them. When his finger grazed his lip, he noticed that it was damp. His palms were sweating. He set the blunt in the ashtray and wiped his hands on his pants. No sooner had he dried them than they started sweating again. That was a bad sign.
“I should’ve stayed on the block,” Ashanti mumbled to himself. He had been thinking it for the past few hours, but that was the first time he’d said it aloud. Ashanti didn’t know why he had allowed himself to be persuaded to go out that night, other than he needed some action in his life. He’d been sitting around for days, and it was driving him nuts. It had been a rough time for Ashanti. He had lost some friends and gained some enemies, with the scale being tipped toward the latter. His test scores during his first few semesters at the University of the Streets had elevated him from the status of mischievous kid to recognized shooter, and his name was ringing in the hood. Ashanti would bang on anything if the price was right or the offense serious enough, and everybody knew it.
Ashanti had become the poster child for the abused and unwanted, and those who felt his pain flocked to him like he was the Oliver Twist of the projects. King James currently had the hood on smash and therefore held sway over the present, but Ashanti controlled the future and not everybody was comfortable with that.
For as many disciples who had rallied to Ashanti, there were two knuckleheads he had a special love for, Cain and Abel. Zo-Pound didn’t particularly care for the two brothers, because they were young, wild, and in a rush to die, but these were the qualities that made Ashanti love them. Like him, they were broken children whom the world had thrown away.
Cain and Abel were a set of twins who were identical in appearance but like night and day in personality. As kids, Abel was always the happy and outgoing twin, while Cain was bitter and quiet. He was the kind of kid who took pleasure in torturing and killing stray cats. It had been apparent since Cain was a child that he was damaged goods, and a freak accident would make him just as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. The twins were playing with their mother’s crack pipe, imitating what they saw in their home, when Cain decided to put a lighter to the pipe. The glass exploded in his face, scarring him and nearly blinding him in his right eye. Fearful of catching a Child Services case, their mother treated him at home, plucking the glass out of his face with a pair of old tweezers and cleaning the wound with Johnnie Walker Red whiskey. After patching her handiwork up with a wad of napkins and some tape, their mother laughed and told Cain, “Now you wear the mark, just like your namesake.”
Abel tapped Ashanti’s arm. He was behind the wheel. “Blood, you hear me talking to you? I asked if you fucking with this,” he extended the pint of Hennessy he’d been sipping from.
Ashanti took the bottle and turned it up to his lips. The brown liquor burned when it first touched his tongue, but within a few seconds, his taste buds had gone numb, and the drink flowed smoothly. He tried to hand the bottle to Cain, who was in the backseat, but he declined.
“I’m good,” Cain said in a raspy whisper. He was tugging at the strings of his hoodie to the point where it almost completely engulfed his face. All you could see was his eyes and his long braids spilling out. He always wore hoodies because he was self-conscious about his scar.
Cain’s silence unnerved Ashanti. He’d known Cain long enough to recognize the calm before the storm. He was ready to get it popping, and before long, it wouldn’t matter who he got at. He was an adrenaline junkie and needed to get his fix regularly.
“Why we still just sitting here like this instead of going in and handling our business?” Abel asked. He was generally the more docile of the brothers, but he tended to get agitated when Cain did. It was some twin shit.
“Because it’s not time to go in yet,” Ashanti told him. He picked the blunt back up and fished around in his pocket for a light. Before he could find one, Cain was leaning over the seat with a Bic in his hand.
Cain sparked the lighter and lit the blunt for Ashanti. While the flame danced under the charred cigar, Cain whispered in Ashanti’s ear. “My nigga, I know what you’re thinking. On the hood, I’ll be mindful of any kids in the spot, but everything else is food. I’m starving, Blood. Let a nigga eat before I lose it,” his voice was almost pleading.
“We move when I say we move,” Ashanti said through the smoke. A few seconds later, the door to the barbershop they’d been watching came open. A woman stepped out, leading her little boy by the hand. He was smiling and eating the lollipop he’d gotten for being a good boy during his first haircut. When she and her son disappeared down the block, Ashanti addressed his crew. “Now we can go in.”
“About fucking time,” Cain said, chambering a round into the big Glock in his hand.
• • •
The small bell hanging above the door of the barbershop announced Ashanti when he entered. There were three barber chairs lined up. The first and the third had men sitting in them getting haircuts, and in the second sat a gray-haired old barber, reading a newspaper. He glanced up at Ashanti, then went back to his paper.
In the chair farthest from the door, a man sat getting a shape-up and talking to the barber who was taking care of him. He was light-skinned, with a thin mustache and curly hair. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, if he was a day. One of his manicured hands rested on the arm of the barber’s chair, and you could see the flawless diamond pinkie ring poking out. It was obvious from his appearance that he was handling. He glanced up at Ashanti in the reflection of the mirror, and for a moment, their eyes met. Ashanti turned away like he was afraid. Seeing that the young boy didn’t want any sauce, the man in the chair went back to his conversation with the barber.
“Like I was saying, the bitch got the nerve to come back talking about she ain’t made but two hundred. I knew off top she was lying,” the man in the chair said.
“So what’d you do next, Percy?” The barber loved it when Pretty Percy came to the shop. Not only was he an excellent tipper, but he always had a funny story to tell.
“I did what any sporting nigga would’ve done, stripped that ho butt-ass naked and checked her until I found the bread she was trying to hold out on,” Percy said.
“And where was she hiding it?” the barber asked.
“In her pussy!” Percy told him, and they both burst out laughing.
“You boys need haircuts?” the barber at the first chair asked.
“Nah, no cuts for us today, fam. As a matter of fact, why don’t y’all take an early lunch?” Cain said, flipping the sign on the door from Open to Closed.
Sensing something was off, the man with the pinkie ring who had been getting the shape-up slipped
his hand under the smock that was protecting his clothes from the falling hair. Before his hand could reemerge, Abel was on him, pointing a sawed-off shotgun.
“What you reaching for, my nigga?” Abel moved in on him and stuck his hand under the smock. He came out holding a 9mm. “Now, what was you planning on doing with this?”
“If you boys are looking to rob us, I’m afraid you won’t find much. Business has been kinda slow lately,” the old man who had been reading the paper said.
Ashanti patted the old man on the shoulder. “No worries, old-timer. I got love for the working man. I just wanna holla at Pretty Percy right quick. Why don’t you all take a walk and come back in about ten minutes?” he told the barbers and the few men who were waiting to get their haircuts. The patrons quickly filed out of the barbershop.
“Fuck y’all want with me?” Percy asked. He was trying to hide the nervousness in his voice, but the sweat on his forehead gave him away.
Abel swung from behind him and slapped Percy in the mouth. “Speak when spoken to, nigga!”
“Why don’t y’all leave Percy alone? He ain’t done nothing to y’all,” the old man said, speaking up.
Ashanti shot the old man a cold look. “Don’t test the boundaries of my kindness, old head. Take a fucking walk.”
“Come on, Pops.” The two barbers ushered Pops toward the door. They knew trouble when they saw it and wanted no part of the three wild young teens.
“Godless creatures. Just Godless,” Pops said as he passed.
“You got that right, muthafucka.” Cain kicked Pops in the ass, causing him to stumble on his way out. “And while you’re outside calling the police, tell them to make sure to bring a cleanup crew, too. You’re gonna need it when we’re done.”
When only the four of them remained, Ashanti addressed the man known as Percy. “What’s popping, slime?”
“You tell me. Y’all the ones with the guns,” Percy said.
