Then he turned and addressed his crowd. “Y’all muthafuckas come on and collect your poison. But it ain’t free though, it’s gonna cost three.”
Business was brisk. Rightchus now concentrated on his growing flock.
“I don’t know why I was so mad at that lil’ ass nigga, yo.”
“I mean you had reasons. But he saved us a lot and he was always around you. I don’t know, Coco. Maybe he’s really your father or—“”
“Please, Deedee! Bite your tongue. Slow your roll! I really hope not. But remember his ass was outside with the po-po at the shooting. How did he get out there?”
“Probably with Kamilla…”
“Word, she did come in a cab…”
“All I remember hearing was the fussing she was doing when she walked into the place,” Deedee said.
“Work on getting yourself a shower, my brother,” Kamilla said over her shoulder.
“Why you wanna diss a brother? See, it’s women like you that’ll cause a brother to commit murder. Bitch wit’ a problem!”
Kamilla didn’t hear or see any of Rightchus’ gestures. She was in the diner, where she spotted Coco and Deedee.
“Hi, I’m Kamilla. May I join y’all?” Kamilla asked. “We have to go see Eric Ascot.”
“That’s my uncle. What is it about?” Deedee asked. She was startled and impatient. Coco stared at the intruder.
“I overheard Vulcha this morning. He was on the phone. Something about being set up and paying back the person who did it. He mentioned Busta and the music producer, Eric. I will not let them kill anybody else,” Kamilla said.
“Why? You were there when they did Danielle, yo.”
“When I last saw Danielle, she was alive. Vulcha said that Lil’ Long gave her a suicide knob to slob.”
“Bullshit. Them muthafuckas killed her. As far as I know, y’all were together, yo!” Coco said. Her shrill voice attracted the attention of the other patrons.
“Why are y’all staring like that?” Deedee asked. “Let’s go. My uncle should be home. They acting like they ain’t never seen people have a discussion before,” Deedee said as they headed for the exit.
“Ladies, ladies, you haven’t paid,” a disturbed waiter called.
“We raced out of that restaurant without paying, remember?” Deedee asked, sipping her drink.
“I think Kamilla paid, yo. I mean I was right behind you, but when I looked back, she was arguing with the waiter.”
“She paid with her life too,” Deedee said.
“Rightchus was out there spittin’ shit, yo.”
“He was trying to help us…”
“Really, it seemed that way, right, yo?”
“It sure seems that way, Coco.”
“How much? Will this cover it?” Kamilla slipped the waiter couple of twenty-dollar bills.
“Yes. Wait, I’ll get you your change.”
The trio caught a taxi and the car sped away. Rightchus ran toward it. He banged on the door.
“Stay out of it. It’s bigger than y’all,” he shouted. “Y’all not listening. All right then, fuck it. Y’all handle your BI, and I’ll handle mine.”
“But he’s such a fucking con-artist, who’s gonna believe his ass, yo?”
“In the end, he was right. We should’ve stayed out of it, and called the police and let them handle it,” Deedee said, reflecting.
An unmarked police car pulled up and two officers jumped out. They immediately cautioned Rightchus who was following them into the building.
“You better stay here and not move,” one of the officers said.
“I ain’t going nowhere. Think I’m stupid wit’ all ’em guns going off?”
The officers ran to the mansion then one of them returned to the car. He keyed the radio and spoke.
“Confirmed shooting of Michael Lowe, a.k.a. Lil’ Long and killing of a young woman, first name Kamilla last name unknown at this time… Two girls with him and young woman. We have someone by the name of Rightchus, claims he knows both girls. He tipped us off that they would be coming here. Over.”
“Rightchus. Ah, he’s a good informant. Take care of him. He has given us some very useful tips. We may still be able to use his services.”
Rightchus gazed intensely at the police radio. Now he understood his role.
“He was just trying to help, I guess, but he was there.”
“That nigga was there when the shooting went down. He was standing out outside with the police.”
“Deedee you’re so fucking right, yo!”
“I know you want to…” Deedee’s voice trailed.
She paused and stirred her strawberry lemonade and looked at it like a work of art. Coco was watching her and waiting.
“I want to what, Dee?” Coco asked impatiently.
“Call him…?” Deedee said. “I mean I still have his number in my cell phone.”
“I wanna ask my mother first. That nigga could wait until I talk to madukes, yo.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Deedee said with a knowing smile.
“The last time I saw that nigga is the last time I will be seeing that nigga, yo. Cuz that shit didn’t go down too nicely.”
“Oh really? What happened?”
“I was with Jo, God bless her soul, and I went upstairs and heard all this commotion. I wasn’t ready for all that…I got to my door opened it and it was just off the hook crazy, yo. Everybody from the hood was there!”
“Surprise!”
A crowd of people had been waiting to greet Coco inside her apartment. The space became even tinier. Her neighbors packed the walls. Some were still emerging from behind closet doors and other hiding places. Coco smiled as she received hugs and kisses.
“You’ve got four letters from these colleges. Harvard wants you to come and visit, they offered you an academic scholarship,” Rachel Harvey announced.
“Ma, you been snooping in my mail…”
“They right over there next to your cake and the postcards,” Rachel Harvey pointed Coco toward the kitchen.
She rifled through letters from Harvard, Howard, Penn State and Rutgers. Coco paused to dream of her possibilities.
“Coco, your song is on the radio!” Someone shouted.
“Coco, that’s you rapping on the radio?” someone yelled from the living room.
“Turn that up!” another shouted.
Hooting and hollering, her neighbors began partying.
“I must say congrats are in order. Coco, you made the whole community proud. Number one song in the land. Top high-school graduate in the country… Highest scores in the SAT… smoking on da corners… You such a fucking lady, da American dream,” Rightchus said.
“A’ight, a’ight you said your piece, now git da fuck outta here,” Coco responded.
“Yo, Coco, I’ve been always in your corner down wit’ cha. You can’t say I ain’t been rootin’ all the time for your success. And this da way you treat me as soon as you start becoming successful. Girl, don’t you get above your raisins. Remember where you from…”
“Why were you so mad at him?”
“Cuz I could tell he’d been in my house smokin’ crack with madukes and doin’ whatever, yo.”
“I hear you. And that was the last time you saw him?” Deedee asked.
“That was the last time I saw his black ass,” Coco said with a smirk.
She picked up her drink and slurped. They were sitting outside the café listening to the waves crashing against the shores. Deedee pulled out her phone and scanned through her calls.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna talk to him?”
“I’m sure, Dee. You can call him, but I don’t wanna talk to him right now. I gotta talk to madukes about this Rightchus bullshit first, yo.”
“You ready to go?”
“Let’s bounce, yo.”
Coco felt Deedee’s arm around her. She was still reeling from an emotional rollercoaster when she tried to stand and Deedee helped her to the car.
12
His body was bound tight in a chair. They gagged him and beat him brutally. Then gasoline was poured all over Rightchus. In the still of the summer’s night, the sound of a match being struck was heard. Rightchus vainly twisted to and fro, but his life had run its course.
He screamed a gurgling, animalistic cry for help, but there was no assistance. In this wooded, quiet place way off from the main road, Rightchus seemed to have an appointment with death. Tied to a chair the flame quickly overtook the small room. There was no way he could miss his rendezvous.
The fire was spreading from his burning body and his bloodcurdling scream came loud, but to no avail. No one came to his rescue even when fire shot up through the roof. The guys who had started it walked away to their waiting cars. A safe distance away, the men watched the flame. They smoked cigarettes waiting, while Rightchus’ flesh burned crispy.
Rightchus had been holed up in a sleazy, run-down old shack of a motel in a rural part of South Carolina, called Rendezvous. Located on a dirt-covered path it was the only place he could hide out. This was not a road Rightchus planned to be on. The flea-bag motel provided only comfort of a bed. Rightchus wanted to take a shower, get out of his dirty rags, and rest up for his journey. He was on the run and had no other place to go.
It was early in the morning, and after taking a shower, Rightchus paused to smoke a cigarette. He had wanted to go straight, and was given a chance to do just that. But he had ended up backtracking into his old self and started stealing from the church.
Rightchus had been working at an old Baptist church in a rural part of South Carolina. Attempting to rid himself of the demons that haunted him in the big city, he had started attending the church. Rightchus proved to be a favorite of the elders because of his temperament. He was always quick with a joke—a quip here and laughter there. Rightchus held onto a deep secret, and never revealed it to anyone in the three months he worked at the church. He was a con artist and a thief who was spurred on by a rabid drug habit.
Somehow Rightchus worked his way into collecting the offering. Then he was delivering the offering and counting the money with the deacons. Dealing with money presented opportunities and tested his faith. One day, Rightchus couldn’t pass up the occasion to help himself to take some of the offering. After more such lapses, he just started taking the money. Eventually the stolen money started adding up. The missing money became noticeable, and the minister gave Rightchus the third degree. He was forced to give back the money or leave.
Rightchus was now hiding from members of the church in a seedy motel. Like old times, he was still making moves, trying to get out of town with the quickness.
“Fuck, now she ain’t gonna take my damn call…” he muttered, waiting for the outgoing message to end.
“This Rightchus. Hit me back. I ain’t get da money you send me. I told y’all that already. Calling me would get me in trouble. Now I’m in a jam and you don’t wanna pick up my call…?”
He put the cell phone down after leaving a message. He turned on the television, channel surfing, and mumbling.
“Fuck this I gotta get out of here… I’m a tell that girl.”
As he muttered to himself, he became interested in an episode of Maury. Rightchus sipped from his bottle, and laughed pointing jokingly at the screen.
Rightchus was on the cell phone scrolling looking at numbers. He saw Deedee’s number and started to dial. Then he was distracted by movements and noise coming from outside his room. His cell phone rang and he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“We know where you are. We got you now, Rightchus!”
“Maruichi…?” he said and quickly hung up the call.
He glanced at the cell phone like it was a foreign object. Rightchus examined and pulled it apart. Removing the SIM card, he ran to the bathroom and flushed it. He knew what time it was, and slowly walked backwards to the bed. He thought about how he had become involved in this whole setup.
He had been down on his luck when the police approached him with an offer. Detective Kowalski from Manhattan South Task Force met him uptown.
“Let’s go see your man Rightchus, then we’ll drop in and see our shooter, Tina Torres. She called to give us insight as to what had happened,” Kowalski said.
Sitting in a seedy place like this, running for his life, Rightchus kept trying not to think of why he had made the call and become involved. It was drugs and money.
Rightchus made a call for Kowalski and Hall who were doing paperwork at their desks. He mentioned that something major was going down in the hood. Kowalski was the first to jump at the informant’s tip.
With the keys to his simple abode in his sweating hand, Rightchus hurried back to his apartment. He pushed against the lock and the door fell flat inside the apartment. He gasped for breath and looked around, his eyes widened.
“What da fuck!” he yelled and stared with a perplexed look at the set of keys in his hand. “Oh man, oh shit, those crazy Maruichi. Now the fucking landlord is gonna have ma muthafucking ass. No, he already has ma ass. He’s gonna have my damn life.”
Rightchus looked around shaking his head at his scattered wares. “I’ve got to get da fuck up out of here before that jerk, shit-head super finds me here.”
He knew he was in over his head and found out everything he wanted to know. He knew it was time to leave, but that it was already too late.
Rightchus hustled about the place hastily retrieving the few belongings that mattered. He verbally checked each item.
“Now I gotta have my Beat Box with my demo tapes, and the pictures of my seeds. Now, now where are those damn pictures of my precious children?”
He examined them one by one while reflecting on the possibility of visiting his family. Rightchus quickly hit the block. He had his prized possessions and the scheme he hoped would put him back into the grace of the mainstream. He would take the offer from the cops and at the same time, this would keep Maruichi off his back. His steps quickened, and then slowed as he neared the bus stop. He stood there and nodded as people went by.
He remembered the setup with the police and mob. It was then he realized that the police and mob were fighting each other, but the same puppet master controlled them. Rightchus had a deal with Lil’ Long to make his death happen in front of witnesses.
“I want those damn cops, Kowalski and Hall dead. I want them dead now.” Maruichi yelled. His sons dialed rapidly on their cell phones.
“It’s a done deal, Dad. Those bastards are good as dead.” Eddie said, getting his father’s undivided attention. “I just put a huge sum on both their heads. They’ll be cold in another twenty-four hours.”
Both sons were preoccupied with pleasing their dad. Neither saw when the riders approached the group. With guns drawn, the Cali6 death squad easily snatched all three and took them home. There they made Frankie get on the phone and call his lawyer.
The puppet master set it up perfectly, but Rightchus had figured it all out and remained one step ahead of their actions. He knew too much, it could blow the lid off a lot of plans. Rightchus had to leave town in secrecy and faked his own death.
The execution duo known as Cali6 had killed Nesto and all his cronies but still no ice had been recovered. They scouted the neighborhood searching for Lil’ Long. He was next on the hit list. Rightchus saw the pair riding motorcycles, and stopped to flirt a little.
“That’s such a cool thing to do—ride and just chill. Maybe I can help y’all ladies,” he said, and limped directly to where they were sitting. “You’re looking for Lil’ Long, but I know he sold the diamonds to Maruichi and—” Rightchus said, and one of them pulled out a gun.
“Hold up, easy now, put that cannon away. I ain’t tryin’ a start no fight with y’all. If I did, I’d come with my kung-fu shit, see you don’t know me. I’m a master at this.”
“Is there something you’re trying to tell us?” one of them asked.
“I’m saying, is there a reward or not in this
for me. I ain’t goin’ ’gainst Lil’ Long with no compensations.”
“You will be rewarded for your information.”
“A’ight, then let’s talk, p.c.” Rightchus said. “Yeah, I did my homework.” He added when they gave him a strange look.
After the conversation with Rightchus, the Cali6 called for permission to hit the mob. The request was granted and they went after Maruichi. The family, Eddie, Jimmy and father sat in the back of the pizza parlor.
“I want those damn cops, Kowalski and Hall dead. I want them dead now.” Maruichi yelled.
“Yeah, you gotta bring that thing here right now.” Frankie Maruichi ordered. Within minutes, the attorney brought the diamonds and was surprised to see who the buyers were. Once they had procured the loot, the Cali6 fired shots at each of the Maruichi’s heads killing them. They set the lawyer free.
Later that night they met with Rightchus and gave him a thousand dollars. Ecstatic, he tried to kiss both.
“Oh shit, oh shit. This all me? This all me?” he jumped jubilantly and yelled until his legs hurt. “Did you get Lil’ Long yet?” Rightchus asked nervously. They rode away without saying a word. “I’m a buy me some fly gears, get me a nice girl—oh it’s on now, muthafuckas.”
Not long after they had ridden off, Lil’ Long appeared and saw Rightchus limping on crutches and singing heartily.
“Yeah, I got that dough now, see in da stores now, buying all ‘em fly gears. That Sean Jean and Akademiks shit now…”
“What da fuck you so happy ’bout?” Lil’ Long asked. “Didn’t I tell you not to let me catch your black ass out here on these streets?”
“Yea-yeah, I only came to cop ci-ci-cigarette,” Rightchus said. Lil’ Long stared at him for a fluttering heartbeat. Rightchus was nervous and his voice shook when he saw Lil’ Long unveiled both his guns. “You already shot me wi-wi-with both yo-yo-your guns…” Rightchus said.
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