by K'wan
* * *
“For a bartender you carry a lot of weight around that spot,” Billy said suspiciously.
“What do you mean?” he asked, cutting off another piece of his steak.
“I mean the way people treat you at Shooter’s. Everybody seems to think you’re the shit.”
“Guess I’m just a lovable guy,” Marcus said and smirked.
Billy sniffed the air. “I smell bullshit. Seriously, what do you really do at Shooter’s?”
Marcus looked at her as if he were thinking of what to say. “Real talk?”
“Real talk.”
“Okay, I’ve got a little money tied up in the spot,” he admitted.
“So all this time you’ve been screaming you’re a bartender and you’re the owner?” Billy asked, with a note of disappointment in her voice that he’d duped her.
“Part owner,” he corrected her. “Me and Shooter got an understanding.”
“See, you’re already starting off on the wrong foot by lying.” She folded her arms.
“Technically, I didn’t lie; I omitted part of the truth,” he pointed out. “I do tend bar and help out around the spot. Just because I’m upper management doesn’t mean things don’t need to get done.
“Billy, I know you’re feeling in a way, but I had several good reasons for not telling you right off the back. If I had told you I owned the club, you’d have just thought I was out here trying to recruit more girls. A better reason is because I wanted you to get to know me as a person, not a club owner who’s sitting on some bread.”
“Oh, so I strike you as the kind of girl that’s out here on a paper chase?” she asked defensively.
“Not at all, but I don’t always trust my first instincts. I tried that once and got myself burned for it.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Billy said, as if she didn’t already know his history. “Well, if it’ll make you feel better, I’m not on it like that. There’s nothing a nigga can do for me that I can’t do for myself. I go out and work for what I need.”
“And that’s one of the things that attracted me to you. Billy, from the first brief conversation we had at the barbecue, I knew you were a girl about her business. You don’t find that much these days. Most chicks are just out for a come-up.”
“Just like most niggaz are out for a nut,” she shot back.
“There are always exceptions to the rules.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Marcus smiled at her wit. “You’ve got a response for everything, don’t you?”
“Pretty much,” she replied.
“So now that my secret is out, do you think I’m a filthy liar who you never want to see again?” he asked, looking at her with puppy dog eyes.
Billy wanted to laugh at the face he was making, but kept it in check. “Maybe, but I won’t make such a rash decision just yet. Before we go any further, is there anything else I should know?”
“Just that you have the most breathtaking eyes.” He blinked like a swooning schoolgirl.
Not being able to hold it any longer, Billy burst out laughing. “Boy, you are too much.”
“For most women.” He placed his hand over hers. “But for someone like you, I’m just enough.”
30
Spooky sat on the edge of his queen-size bed, checking the chamber on a brand-new Ruger. Jah was standing in the middle of the bedroom, practicing his draw in the mirror. He would snatch the .40 from his belt and aim it at the mirror, each time trying to best the previous. He loved the little gun and it had been with him for years.
“Man, why do you still have that thing?” Spooky asked.
“Because it’s a good gun.” Jah continued his routine. “This shit ain’t never gave me a problem.”
“That’s because you ain’t never been stopped with it,” Spooky pointed out. “Jah, how many muthafuckas you done shot with that?”
“A few.” He retucked the gun.
Spooky shook his head. “You carrying that hot-ass piece like we ain’t got more iron.” Spooky reached under his bed and slid out a wooden box. Inside the box there were two handguns and some clips. Snatching a Glock from the box and checking the clip, he handed it to Jah. “Try that. It’s about the same weight, and brand new. Take that hot-ass forty and toss it in the fucking river.”
Jah examined the gun from butt to barrel. Balancing the Glock in one hand and the .40 in the other, he noticed that the Glock was slightly heavier and had a slightly longer barrel. Though it wasn’t as pretty or as proven as his .40, it would put a generous-size hole in something.
“It’s a’ight,” Jah said, tucking the Glock in the back of his pants and putting the .40 back in his belt holster. “Yo, I gotta go take care of something right quick, but I’ll hit you in a little while.”
“Fuck is you going? We gotta plan our counterattack,” Spooky said.
“We’ll handle that later. Let me go do this thing right quick and I’ll be back.”
“Jah, I know you ain’t putting off a rider mission for no pussy?”
“Come on, Spook, you should know me better than that. Would I put splitting a nigga’s shit on the back burner for some pussy?”
“Hard to tell these days,” Spooky mumbled. “Do what you gotta do and hit me back. Make sure you’re careful out there.”
“All day.” Jah gave Spooky a pound and left.
When he made it outside Spooky’s building, he felt as if a weight had been lifted. Spooky was without a shadow of a doubt Jah’s best friend and crime partner, but there were some things that Jah wouldn’t ever share with him. He had been trying to shake his comrade all day to handle more pressing business. Punching in a number on his cell, Jah placed the phone to his ear and waited. He had been thinking about making the call all day, but hadn’t yet found the time. Between Spooky’s shit talking and the walking dead men who tried to hit him up, his day had been pretty full. Still, the thought lingered in his mind. Even during the shootout he kept thinking that if he died he’d never be able to tell her how he really felt.
After about five rings it went to voicemail. Jah started to hang up, but figured if he did he would’nt be able to build the courage to make the call again. Sucking it up, he left a voicemail.
“What up … ah … this is Jah. Um … listen, I was just calling to see what was up. ‘Bye.” Jah hung up abruptly. He immediately wished that he’d just hung up and not said anything. He must’ve sounded like a complete ass. The damage was already done, so there was no sense worrying about it. All he could do now was wait and see if Yoshi would call back. In the meantime, he had a grand old idea to occupy his time.
* * *
“Yo, it’s so many hos in here I don’t know what to do with myself,” Groovy said, leaning against the bar sipping his drink.
“You ain’t never lied, my dude,” Rel agreed.
“I’m glad we came out instead of kicking it in the crib with Slick.”
“Yeah.” Rel downed his glass of cognac. “We supposed to be one of the livest crews in Harlem, and we’re playing commando with a kid that’s barely old enough to drink. That nigga Slick is on some other shit that I can’t get with.”
“True.” Groovy nodded. “You think we’ll get another crack at Jah?”
“More than likely. See, let me run down to you what I learned in this game, youngster.” Rel put his arm around Groovy. “People like Jah are creatures of habit. They get comfortable with a certain geographical area or routine and that’s what they stick to. When he think the heat has died down, he’ll be right back up to his old tricks, and I’m gonna put a bullet in his head.”
“Rel, you stay talking some movie shit,” Groovy teased him.
“Nigga, my life is a movie. You know how much dirt I’ve done and gotten away with?” Rel boasted. “I done laid down way harder niggaz than Jah. Slick is my nigga, but he ain’t got no spine for war. That’s why I should be in charge.”
Groovy raised an eyebrow. “You?”
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“Muthafucking right, me. I got twenty years invested in this game, son. I ain’t supposed to be no lieutenant, I’m a fucking general.”
“All that shit sounds good, Rel, but this ain’t the eighties. These cats play by a different set of rules than you’re used to.”
“That’s why the game is fucked up now. The art of drug trafficking is supposed to be a gentleman’s craft, but you got little know-nothing muthafuckas changing the rules and making shit harder on everyone else. I’m telling you, my dude, I’m gonna bring the game back to what it was.”
“Whatever, nigga.” Groovy waved him off and went back to watching the girls move about the floor. Seated at a table in the back, he noticed a familiar face. “Yo,” he said and tapped Rel, “ain’t that Jay and them from Bad Blood?”
Rel squinted in the direction his friend was looking. “Yeah, that’s them niggaz. Fake-ass rappers.”
“Yo, let’s go holla at them niggaz, son. I know Pain from my old hood.”
“Come on, man, I ain’t trying to jump on nobody’s dick.”
“How are we dick riding when I just wanna say ‘what up’ to my dude?” Groovy asked.
“Fuck them niggaz.” Rel spat.
“Man, bring your hating ass on,” Groovy said, heading in their direction. Rel sucked his teeth and followed.
“Pain, what’s good, my nigga?” Groovy approached the table.
“Oh shit, li’l-ass Groove!” Pain shouted over the music. His speech was slurred from the drinks they had consumed. “I ain’t seen you in a minute. Where the fuck you been?”
“I’m making moves in Harlem now,” Groovy told him. “Yo, I hear y’all niggaz is getting crazy spins on the radio.”
“You know how Bad Blood do it,” Pain said, giving Lex dap. “Sit down and have a drink wit’ us, my dude,” he told Groovy.
Groovy eagerly took a seat. “Yo, this is my dude, Rel.” Groovy pointed at his partner, who was still standing.
“What up?” Rel said dryly. The men at the table exchanged snickers, peeping Rel trying to play the strong silent type.
“Take a seat, my man,” Jay told him. “All are welcome here.” Rel reluctantly sat down. “Yo, we got two more bottles of Moёt on the way, but y’all niggaz order whatever you want to drink. It’s on Big Dawg!”
* * *
“What do you mean, you’ve gotta go? Where the hell are you going?” Valerie asked.
“I told you, I gotta bounce for a few weeks,” Ralph replied, tossing a pair of jeans into his duffel bag. “I gotta take care of this thing, but I’ll be back.”
Valerie looked at him as if he was foolish for even attempting such a weak lie. She had been with Ralph for three years, so she knew his character better than he did. “That’s a load of shit and you know it. Ralph, tell me what’s going on!”
“Woman, I ain’t got time to explain it to you right now!” he shouted, drawing the strings on the duffel bag.
“Oh, you’re gonna tell me something,” she said and sat on the bag, “or you ain’t going nowhere no time soon.”
Ralph wanted to belt her, but he knew a run-in with the police was the last thing he needed at that moment. Telling Valerie the truth was his best option of getting the hell out of Harlem before the wolves came out.
“Listen, some shit went down with me and my niggaz and somebody got killed,” he finally admitted.
“Killed? Did you have something to do with that boy that got killed on One thirty-fifth?” Valerie asked.
“Ma, I was there, but I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I rode with Slick and them niggaz to hit Jah and—”
“Jah? I thought y’all was friends?”
“Man, that nigga put his hands on me about some bullshit paper I owed him, so all that friend shit went out the window. All I did was show Slick and them where he be at, but I swear I didn’t shoot anyone.”
Valerie just sat for a long time, never saying anything. She looked at Ralph as if she was trying to process what he had just told her. It started out with her lip quivering, then tears rolling down her cheeks, then the next thing Ralph knew, Valerie was bawling.
“Val, what’re you crying for? I told you I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“That’s not why I’m crying,” she said, sobbing.
“Then what the hell is your problem?”
Valerie wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands and cleared her throat. “Ralph, me and you done been through some shit, but for the most part we’ve had a wonderful relationship. I never thought the day would come when I was embarrassed to be your girl.”
“Embarrassed? What the hell did I do?” he asked.
“What did you do?” she asked, as if it was a stupid question. “Ralph, you’re a rat!”
“What? Bitch, is you crazy? You’re only a rat if you cooperate with the police.”
“Ralph, you can’t be that dense. You gave someone up for your own selfish reasons. I don’t give a shit if it’s the police or the competition, the code of silence always comes first. To make matters worse, you had the goddamn nerve to point him out.”
“Well, what did you expect me to do?”
“You could’ve handled it like a man. Jah bleeds just like anyone else. If you had a problem with that man, then you should’ve handled it, not duped someone else into doing it. That’s some snake shit.”
“Fuck that, it was him or me.” No sooner had the statement left Ralph’s mouth than a wad of phlegm left Valerie’s mouth. It smacked Ralph dead on the cheek and slowly dripped down his face. He started to jump on her, but froze when he saw she had produced a very large pair of scissors.
“You know, those were the exact same words that came out of my cousin’s mouth when he gave my baby brother up to the feds. You’re so worried about your own selfish pride that you ain’t even thinking about how this affects the people around you. It’s because of ignorant-ass niggers like you and Slick that the ghetto is the ghetto. Y’all are so reckless wit’ ya shit that you probably killed an innocent man and the police are gonna be hot on your asses. Not to mention that Jah is still alive. Youz a sad muthafucka, Ralph, and I just pray that he doesn’t catch you before you make it out of town because Jah is surely gonna carve you up for what you’ve done. Get the fuck outta my house!”
Ralph was fuming, but he just nodded, took his stuff, and left. As he walked to the elevator, he got dizzy thinking how a woman he had loved for years had reduced him to nothing in a matter of seconds. He knew he was a lowlife shit for putting the finger on Jah to be hit, but his survival instincts kicked in, overriding his honor. New York was over for him.
* * *
After a few drinks and several dirty jokes, Rel had dropped his tough-guy persona and was having a good time with the cats from Big Dawg. They proved to be a group of cool cats who knew how to have a good time and didn’t mind spending paper. The DJ announced that China was about to take the stage, drawing the men’s attention. When Yoshi stepped out, Rel’s eyes went wide.
“Damn, pick your lip up, homey,” Pain teased.
“That’s a bad bitch up there,” Lex said, hungrily eyeing Yoshi.
“Fuck that slut,” Rel said.
“You know her or something?” Jay asked.
“Yeah, a li’l freak bitch from the hood,” Rel said, reclining in his seat, trying to look cool. “Me and one of my niggaz ran up in that not too long ago.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” Pain said, sitting up.
“True story, kid. Shorty is a prime freak, into all kind of crazy shit. She used to like me to get rough with her and act like I was taking the pussy,” Rel lied. “For a few dollars, she’ll even take it in her shit box.”
“Yo, our paper is crazy long!” Jay boasted.
“Since you know the bitch, why don’t you set it up?” Lex suggested.
“Yeah, I might be able to do that,” Rel said coolly.
“Well, get your ass up and go holla at the bitch, son,” Pain ordered.
“Na
h, we can’t do it like that. She’ll get in trouble with the niggaz that own the club if they get wise to her turning tricks. When she gets done onstage, I’m gonna hit her on the jack and put it together.”
“Damn, you might be good for something after all.” Pain slapped Rel on his back.
Rel grinned like a fool as he accepted praise from around the table for the potential jump-off. He looked over at Yoshi and smiled sinisterly. He had put himself out there for Yoshi and she had shitted on him, a slight he hadn’t forgotten. Rel rubbed his hands together in anticipation of payback on the bitch who had stepped on his heat.
* * *
Before stepping around the corner to where the elevators were, Ralph peeked out cautiously. His .25 was secured in his boot, but he still didn’t feel safe. Before even pressing for the elevator, Ralph called a cab and the operator confirmed it’d be there in three minutes. Covering all his bases, Ralph pressed for the elevator.
Ralph had only been waiting for a few seconds, but it felt like forever. He was so nervous that he felt like he would shit his pants if he didn’t get out of Harlem soon. Finally, the elevator chimed and the rusty doors began to slide open. Ralph took one step and light exploded in his eyes. He slumped against the wall, feeling the blood begin to run from his nose. Struggling to open his eyes, Ralph almost fainted when he saw Jah standing over him, smiling.
“Oh shit!” Ralph said with his eyes bugging out of his head.
“Shit is right, and when you rode out with them niggaz against me and my people, you stepped in a whole pile of it.”
“Yo, Jah, it wasn’t like that. Let me explain!” Ralph pleaded, scrambling backward until he hit the wall.
Jah reached down and grabbed Ralph by the front of his shirt, snatching him to his feet. “Fuck can you explain to me, how youse a sucka-ass nigga, or why Crazy Eight died in the fucking gutter? Nah, don’t explain it to me, explain it to the devil when you meet him, bitch-ass nigga!” When Jah cleared his .40 from the holster, Ralph made one last attempt to save his life and lunged for it. For this he was rewarded by a shot to the chest. As he stumbled around, trying to stop the flow of blood, Jah gave him one in the face. “You rat bastard.” Jah laughed before stepping back onto the elevator.
