by K'wan
Bug wasn’t a big drinker or smoker, but he’d experimented with both, like most kids his age. Bug frowned as the strong weed tickled his nose. He saw his older cousin watching him from under hooded eyes, daring him to hit the potent weed. Bug put the blunt between his lips and inhaled. At first, he didn’t feel anything, but then the aftershock came. The smoke gripped his lungs, forcing him to cough violently. The more Bug coughed, the higher he seemed to become. By the time he composed himself enough to pass the blunt back to Big Money, saliva was dripping down Bug’s lip onto his jeans.
“What the fuck was that, some killa?” Bug asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He had only hit the weed once, but he could already feel the fog trying to settle over his brain.
“That there is some of Harlem’s finest, mixed with a little something extra to cap it off. Don’t worry, it’ll make you feel groovy, little cousin,” Big Money said, hitting the blunt like a champ. He passed it to Bug, but he declined. Instead, he went over to the nightstand and grabbed the pint of Hennessy.
“Where these bitches at? I’m ready to get it going,” Bug said, swigging from the bottle. He had a nice buzz going on.
No sooner had he said it than they heard someone insert the keycard into the door.
“Showtime.” Big Money smiled, sliding onto one of the two queen-size beds and striking his coolest pose.
The door opened, and in slithered two buxom young things, one chocolate, one caramel. The chocolate one was older, maybe in her late twenties, but her body was still very tight. It looked like her blue jeans had been painted on with as much care as her multicolored acrylic nails. The caramel one was prettier in the face but didn’t have as much tits and ass as the chocolate one. She came in sucking a cherry lollipop like it was best thing since the television show Scandal. It had gotten chilly that night but not enough to persuade her to put on stockings with the short skirt she wore. From the way she struggled to navigate the high heels on her feet, you could tell she was young.
“Glad you could make it.” Big Money slid off the bed and stood. He blew smoke into the air confidently and openly ogled both girls. His eyes lingered on the caramel one, but it was the chocolate one who stepped up. Her name was Pam.
“I told you we was coming.” Pam hugged him. “This is my girl Tiffany.” She nodded to the caramel one. Tiffany just waved.
“I’m glad y’all made it. Whatever y’all had to spend on cabs or whatever to get down here, don’t worry about it. I’ll shoot it back to you before you leave.”
“You’ll hit us with more than that.” Pam kissed him on the cheek and strode past Big Money. “And what’s your name, cutie?” she asked Bug, who was sitting in the armchair with a goofy look on his face.
“Fire Bug,” he said in a lazy drawl. It felt like his lips and tongue were going numb.
“Why do they call you that?” Tiffany asked. She had a high voice.
“Because I’m good at blowing shit up,” Bug boasted. Tiffany gave him a smile that said she was impressed, and he found himself getting warm and tingly feelings in his gut.
“Well, I hope your little cute ass didn’t have nothing to do with the traffic jam in Harlem. That’s what took us so long to get here,” Pam said.
“What was it, an accident or something?” Big Money asked, passing Pam the high-octane blunt.
“Nah, they said there was an explosion on Broadway, near the projects.” Pam took a hit of the blunt, then paused and looked at it funny. She shrugged it off and kept smoking. “They said it was a gas main or some shit.”
“Or something else,” Bug mumbled, then broke into a fit of giggling.
Pam gave him a look but didn’t follow up on his remark. “You know, I don’t really be in my hood like that anymore. It’s getting too crazy, with all the recent shootings,” she told Big Money.
“It’s getting like that all over,” Big Money said. “But fuck hood politics, what the business really is?” He looked her up and down so there was no mistaking exactly what he meant.
“You ain’t said nothing slick to a can of oil.” Pam slid out of her jacket and made herself comfortable on the bed. “Let’s get to drinking and drugging for a while so we can unwind. Then we can turn this shit into a gangsta party.”
• • •
Big Money put a few more blunts in the air, minus the special sauce he’d sprinkled on the first one. He and Pam lay on the bed, feeling each other up. Pam stroked his dick through his jeans and whispered into his ear what she planned to do to him. Drinks flowed freely, and everyone began to loosen up, including Fire Bug. He and Tiffany were on the opposite bed, passing a blunt back and forth and both of them pretending not to notice Bug running his hand timidly up Tiffany’s skirt. The mood was officially set.
“Well.” Big Money got off the bed. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to get into some grown folks’ business.” He pulled his shirt over his head.
“I can’t speak for the kids over there, but I ain’t never been shy.” Pam wiggled out of her tight jeans.
“Wait, we all gonna do it in the same room?” Bug asked nervously. He was just getting comfortable with the idea of having sex with Tiffany, but he wasn’t sure if he was up to doing it in front of an audience.
“It ain’t like y’all got nothing we’ve never seen before. Listen, if it’ll make you feel better, we can dead the lights.” Pam flipped the switch on the wall and draped the room in darkness.
Bug lay there, not sure what to do next. In the dark, Tiffany leaned and kissed him on the lips. “Don’t worry, everything is cool.” She helped him get his shirt off.
It didn’t take Big Money and Pam long to start getting into some heavy action. She kissed a trail down his stomach and worked her way to his dick. She took the tip of it into her mouth, then hesitated. She sniffed his dick and frowned. “Baby, were you at a BBQ or something? Your whole body smells like charcoal.”
Big Money pulled her up from his dick and kissed her. “Nah, just had to take care of something, and I got a little too close.”
“You and your fake-ass gangsta stories.” Pam bit him on the lip playfully.
Big Money held her at arm’s length. “What you mean by that?”
“Nothing, I was just teasing you, because every time I talk to you, you’ve got a crazy story. Remember the last time you were telling me about the shootout with ten dudes?”
“Those ain’t stories, that’s my life, ma. What these niggaz rap about, I’m living!” Big Money declared.
“If you say so, boo. I ain’t doubting you’re gangsta.” Pam tried to kiss him, but Big Money turned his face away.
“You think it’s a game with me? I’m a Savage. We about that work. If you wanna know the truth, that wasn’t no gas main that blew up in Harlem, it was a truck,” Big Money told her.
“Nigga, how the hell would you know more than what everybody else is saying?” Pam asked.
“Because it was me that blew it up,” Big Money said proudly. It was a lie, but it made him look big in Pam’s eyes.
This piqued Pam’s interest. She had heard a story about a kid from her neighborhood being killed that night, but she didn’t know the details. All she knew was that the whole hood was broken up. She wasn’t sure if there was any connection, so she decided to prod Big Money further. “Big Money, that’s dumb as hell. Why would you blow up a truck in the middle of Harlem?”
“Because when I body a nigga, I don’t do it half-ass. If I have to, I’ll take out every muthafucka on the block, too. Dude had to get got, and whoever went along for the ride, that was just their hard luck.”
“That’s cold-blooded,” Pam said.
“Us Savages are cold-blooded creatures, ma. You fuck with us, and you’re fucking with the best.”
Before Pam could drag any more information out of him, they were interrupted by laughing coming from the next bed. Both Big Money and Pam saw Bug’s silhouette rise from the bed, yanking at his pants.
“Fuck
is going on over there?” Big Money asked, cutting on the light.
“Your friend had a little accident,” Tiffany said, trying to stifle her laughter.
Bug stood in the corner, wiping something off his jeans with a towel. “Shut up,” he said sharply.
“I keep telling you it’s OK. It’s happened to plenty of other guys, though not quite as quick,” Tiffany said.
“Bug, I know that ain’t what I think it is?” Big Money asked. When he saw the look of embarrassment on Bug’s face, he knew what had gone down. Before Tiffany could give him the business, Bug had ejaculated prematurely all over himself.
“Wipe that fucking smirk off your face, Big Money. This shit ain’t funny.” Bug threw the towel at him.
“Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ll have your dick back hard in no time.” Tiffany reached for Bug, but he slapped her hand away.
“Bitch, don’t touch me,” he snapped.
“Bitch, who you calling a bitch?” Tiffany asked with an attitude.
“I’m calling you a bitch, funky whore,” Bug said.
“Ain’t no need for name-calling, shorty. Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?” Pam asked. She didn’t like the way Bug was coming at Tiffany.
Bug retrieved his gun and pointed it at Pam. “Low-life whore, you wanna see what my mama taught me?”
“Bug, be cool,” Big Money urged him.
“Man, fuck that. These bitches gotta go. Get your shit, and get the fuck out,” Bug ordered the girls.
“That’s how it’s going down, Big Money?” Pam looked at him with fire in her eyes. He had been the one who invited her to the hotel, and the fact that he wasn’t bothering to try to keep his cousin in check made her angry.
Big Money looked from Bug and his gun back to Pam and shrugged. “Sorry, shorty. I think it’s best if y’all just roll out.” He was tight that he didn’t get any pussy, but Big Money knew Bug and his tantrums. There was no telling what he was liable to do with the gun, and he didn’t want to have to be the bearer of bad news when it came time to explain everything to Ma Savage.
“This is some bullshit.” Pam snatched up her pants. “Let’s go, Tiff.”
“Lame-ass nigga,” Tiffany mumbled under her breath as she got off the bed.
“What did you say?” Bug asked.
“I said y’all some lame-ass niggaz,” Tiffany said defiantly. Without warning, Bug hauled off and slapped her across the bed.
“What the fuck is you doing?” Big Money grabbed Bug.
When the shock of being slapped finally wore off, Tiffany jumped to her feet. “Nigga, is you crazy?” She tried to attack Bug, but Big Money kept his bulk in between them.
“Shorty, please don’t make it worse. Just go,” Big Money pleaded.
“Fuck it, Tiff. It ain’t that serious.” Pam pulled her friend away. “Big Money, this is some wack-ass shit, but I ain’t gonna hold it against you. The next time you wanna party, bring a grown-up with you.”
“Eat a dick, whore.” Bug spit at her but missed.
“Ya mama is a whore,” Tiffany said from a safe distance.
“Your mouth is gonna get you in trouble one day, shorty,” Pam told Bug. “Big Money, can I at least get that paper you promised me so we can bounce?”
Big Money looked at Pam as if she was speaking a foreign language. “Paper, what paper? I didn’t bust a nut, so all bets are off.”
Pam’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Wow, I’d heard around town that you were a greasy nigga, but I didn’t know you was that petty. It’s OK, though, Big Money Savage. This shit is gonna come back around to you, bet that.”
“Whatever, just get the fuck out before my arms get tired of holding this lil’ nigga and I’m about to turn him loose,” Big Money told her.
“Come on, Tiff.” Pam pulled her toward the door.
When the girls were gone, Big Money turned to Bug. “What the fuck was all that shit about, Bug?”
“Bitch was trying to play me,” Bug said.
“I hear you, but you can’t be pulling no guns on no hos in no hotels. That’s just dumb,” Big Money told him.
“She lucky you was in the way, or else I would’ve shot her,” Bug promised.
“Dumb-ass kid.” Big Money shook his head. “Get your shit, man. We getting out of here. I don’t know what might come of this situation you caused.”
“Fuck them whores. My last name is Savage. They can’t do shit to me,” Fire Bug said, tucking the gun into his waistband.
• • •
Pam and Tiffany stepped out into the night air, looking a hot mess as they had to dress hurriedly in the elevator and still hadn’t had a chance to put their shoes back on. Their disheveled hair and bare feet drew a few glances, but they were too mad to care what people thought.
“This was some bullshit. You said these niggaz you were coming to see were cool,” Tiffany fumed.
“When I met Big Money, I thought he was about that life. I didn’t know he was gonna turn out to be a clown,” Pam explained.
“Him and his bitch-ass cousin better hope I don’t tell Lil’ Monk about this shit, because you know that nigga would straight clown,” she said, speaking of her son’s father.
“Tiffany, don’t bring that crazy nigga into this. Lord knows they don’t want no parts of him, and I don’t want my name tied directly to no murder,” Pam said. Lil’ Monk was a menace in the hood who was known to let his gun fly. “I know how to fix them niggaz, though,” Pam said coldly.
“What you gonna do?” Tiffany asked.
“Watch this.” Pam pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Hey, this is Pam,” she said when the caller answered. “How much is it worth to you to find out the names of the cats responsible for killing your lil’ homie?”
TWENTY-THREE
AFTER WHAT HAPPENED TO SHORTY, King no longer wanted to go to the Bronx. He needed to be in his hood. It had always been his theory that he drew strength from the concrete streets of Harlem, and he needed the strength of his native soil more than ever.
He stood in the middle of the playground, looking out at the street, eyes fixed on the spot where his truck had exploded and claimed Shorty’s life. The city had removed most traces of the crime scene, but he could still see soot resting on cars and the broken grocery-store window that had caved in after the blast. When he closed his eyes, he could hear Shorty screaming for someone to help him out of the truck.
“It should’ve been me,” King said to himself.
“What you say, big homie?” Abel asked. He was sitting on the bench next to his brother, Cain, and Dee.
“Nothing, my nigga,” King said, blinking away a tear that was trying to form in his eye.
Lakim came out of the building, face twisted into his usual scowl, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What’s in the bag, La?” Dee asked.
“Early Fourth of July for anybody who comes through here acting like they wanna get stupid.” Lakim patted the bag. “Yo, God,” he said, addressing King. “I just got off the jack with the broad I’m fucking who works for the cab company as a dispatcher, and she had some disturbing news.”
“Well, don’t keep an asshole in suspense. Spit it out,” King told him.
“She said that one of their drivers got killed tonight up in Hunt’s Point during some wild-ass shootout,” Lakim told him.
“I heard about that shit. They were talking about it on the radio a little while ago. They was saying like eight niggaz got killed, including three police officers,” Abel said, remembering the news broadcast that had interrupted the hip-hop countdown on his favorite station.
“Good riddance to them fucking pigs.” Cain spit on the ground. He was still salty about the beating he’d taken at the hands of Detective Brown and his henchmen at the precinct.
“Why is that relevant to us?” King asked.
“Because she said the last fare he picked up was a guy and a girl leaving this location,” Lakim told him.
&nbs
p; “Ashanti and Fatima?” King’s heart was filled with dread. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he had lost two more people he’d promised to look after.
“Sounds like it might’ve been,” Lakim said sadly. “They found the cab driver murdered in his car and a few more bodies in a warehouse that blew up a few blocks away. I don’t know who it was, though.”
“Yo, word to everything I love, if somebody did something to my big homie, I’m stretching them and they mamas!” Cain said emotionally. Both twins were close to Ashanti, but he and Cain shared a special connection. Ashanti was like the big brother Cain never had, and he loved him just as much as he did his own twin.
“Be cool, Cain. It could’ve been anybody. Don’t put negative energy into the air,” King told him. “Has anybody spoken to Ashanti since him and Fatima left?”
“I tried calling his phone a few times but kept getting the voicemail,” Abel said.
“It ain’t like Ashanti not to have his phone handy at all times,” Dee added.
“Let’s get our people on it. If somebody did something to Ashanti, they gonna die for it. No questions asked,” King vowed. He had always had love for little Ashanti. Not just because he brought money into the organization but because he was real nigga.
“I didn’t wanna say nothing, but I been thinking about a few things,” Lakim said. “Ashanti was acting strange after the police picked him up for questioning about that murder, and—”
“You better think long and hard before you finish that sentence, Lakim,” Cain warned.
“Don’t get to puffing up on me, lil’ nigga. I’m just laying all the possibilities on the table,” Lakim said to Cain. “I’m just saying, yo, Ashanti got a rap sheet a mile long. I’d have expected them to keep him at least overnight for questioning, but he was out within a few hours.”
“And when did you get your law degree?” Cain asked. “They popped me and Ashanti at the same time but didn’t have nothing on us. While you’re bumping your gums about shit you don’t understand, you should probably factor in that the police are on camera beating the shit out of me. That’s why they sprung us, nigga!”
