Ghetto Girls 6

by Anthony Whyte

  Coco turned her back to the window. Her mother plopped herself down on the soiled sofa. Everything was worn out just like the sofa. A mouse scuttled from underneath somewhere and disappeared through a hole in the wall. Well, maybe not everything.

  “I guess I better start the laundry.”

  Coco grabbed the keys along with the cart. Just as Coco started out the door, her mother approached and Coco saw her expression. The woman was itching for a fix.

  “Get me a pint of Hen,” she said and handed Coco a ten-dollar bill.

  The whole time she was looking the other way. Coco knew there would be no eye-to eye contact.

  “You can bring it after you put the clothes in the washer, okay?” Mrs. Harvey said, using her sincerest tone.

  Coco noted that her mother’s demeanor was like that of a little girl asking for candy.

  “Okay?”

  Coco wished her mother was more like Miss Katie. No, she wanted to answer. No more candies for you. Instead she smiled, shaking her head, and said, “Yeah, yeah. A’ight.”

  “Don’t be giving me that ‘yeah, a’ight’ street lingo. Just be careful with your mouth,” Ms. Harvey said.

  “To the dungeon,” Coco said.

  The door slammed shut and Coco stopped in the hallway outside the door. She quickly checked her pockets and realized there was something that she had forgotten.

  “Nah, nah. Not yet. I need my smokes.”

  Coco started banging on the door. Mrs. Harvey came to the door. From the outside, Coco could see her clearly through the damaged peephole. She opened the door and threw the pack of cigarettes. Coco caught them in her left hand easily.

  “We’ve got to get ’em to fix this hole, yo,” Coco said.

  “Yeah, when you get back, hurry. And I’m not gonna tell you again to stop da street slang. I’m not your ‘yo-yo’. I’m your mother, alright? I don’t know how many more times I’ve gotta remind you of that fact.”

  Calm down, mother. Cuz right now you just whinin’ like a little girl. You’ll have your candy soon, Coco thought.

  “Okay,” she blurted out instead as she started for the stairwell, dragging the cart of dirty laundry.

  +

  She had always wanted to move her mother out of this apartment and into better digs. Coco felt incomplete; she didn’t finish the job.

  “I never got her out, yo…”

  “Coco you did a lot of great things. And even though you’ve been through hell, you’re still here.”

  “I feel like the drugs won, yo.”

  “No, drugs only win if you let them. It’s up to you to not let her life be in vain, Coco.”

  “I failed her, cuz I couldn’t save her life, yo.”

  “She was unable to save her own life. You can’t beat up yourself over that one,” Deedee said.

  Coco glanced around the apartment, and said, “I still feel like I let her down, yo.”

  Her dreams were big, but reality slowly set in. She wanted her mother to be a part of her success. Now what did it all matter? Coco felt stuck in depression. She wanted to strike out, but with Dontay dead, she had to defuse the thought of talking to him. Deedee watched her walk to her mother’s room and started searching the drawers. She was unsure what exactly Coco was seeking to find, but Deedee joined her.

  “I want to help you, Coco,” Deedee said. “What’re you looking for?”

  “I saw some photos here before. I just wanna see them now, yo.”

  She pulled out the drawer and came across some photos hidden in a corner. Coco took out the collection of snapshots and glanced at them. Deedee joined her and together they scanned Rachel Harvey’s collection of photos. Most of them were from when Rachel Harvey was younger. Then she saw one of her mother and someone else, but the person’s face was ripped out of the photo. Coco examined the photo closely and her musings took over. It could’ve been Rightchus, she thought, but couldn’t know for sure.

  “Who do you think was in this shot, yo?”

  Deedee took the photo and examined it. She twisted it and looked at the photo from different angles, trying to identify the person, but still couldn’t.

  “This photo is old and it’s torn badly. So I don’t think anyone could tell,” Deedee said.

  “Yeah, maybe just the person who took the picture, yo,” Coco said, sighing in frustration.

  “Try to let it go, Coco.”

  “Dee, do me a favor and call Rightchus, yo.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Deedee asked, removing her cell phone from her handbag.

  “Yes, I’m sure, yo.”

  Deedee searched the directory of the cell phone, found the number, and dialed. The phone on the other end rang once then went to voicemail.

  “Rightchus, this is Deedee. Please answer this message and call me back. It’s very important,” Deedee said and ended the call.

  “It ain’t that important, yo.”

  Coco continued searching the apartment and finally walked out. She still had the collection of photos.

  “What’re we gonna do with all this, yo,” Coco said, looking around the apartment.

  “Uncle E is busy making all the arrangements. I’ll remind him about getting rid of all the furniture.”

  “Damn, yo! I feel like they part of me, you know?”

  “I understand, Coco. I mean you can donate them to Salvation Army or have a sale,” Deedee said with an inquisitive look.

  Coco walked around, touching the television, glancing at the new sofa. Then she went into her room and returned carrying only a small duffel bag and the photo. Then she walked out of the apartment and stopped in the hallway, looking at the door.

  “I think I’ll give it all to the Salvation Army, yo.”

  They walked downstairs and saw the people milling in front of the apartment building. Slowly the crowd started drifting toward the surprised girls. Coco was eyeing the crowd suspiciously then someone spoke.

  “Sorry to hear about your loss, Coco.”

  What was said triggered her uncontrollable emotions to rush to the surface. Coco felt her heartbeat quicken and her body heave with sadness. Deedee saw Coco’s reaction and knew the teen didn’t want to start crying. She held her shaking arm and led her away.

  “Let us know about the funeral,” another person said.

  “Okay will do,” Deedee said, hugging Coco.

  “Keep your head up, Coco,” someone shouted.

  “She’ll stay alive through you, Coco,” another person shouted.

  Coco flashed the peace sign at the waving crowd and Deedee sped off. Then her tears flowed. Coco sobbed heavily while Deedee slipped Coco’s new song into the CD changer and pumped up the volume. She started singing along with the song.

  “Uh ha.. Gotta go off into my zone, lifting off my coat clearing my throat… I gotta get, get up in my zone…Over-stand Bobbie Seale inside George Jackson action I’ll shed blood but why die when I’d murder you several times my third rail flow on this track…

  Listening to her new song eventually lifted Coco’s spirit and she joined Deedee. They both sang, and laughed. Deedee steered the car through the city’s evening traffic.

  “Activist like Angela Davis wanna end lives in a revolution

  then a prayer fell on my lips I cannot go that route now spreadin’

  rhymes like love to all my peoples living and dealing

  survivors of life’s struggles… cocaine swagger

  let these niggas know they outta they minds

  tryin’ to sway my rhymes every time I pause…

  I change time drugs coming from Madukes’ loins…

  supercharged shit I spit with put you in orbit

  got ’em spacemen ducking… liftoff…”

  20

  “Eric, Eric, you’re not listening to me,” Max Roose said to Eric Ascot.

  Both men sat in the very comfortable midtown office of the attorney, discussing the case against Eric. He had reluctantly agreed to meet with the attorney,
but Roose was even more adamant about Eric’s complete participation. With the trial date set, Max Roose was trying to convince him to cooperate with the preparation of his legal defense.

  “You must call your ex-fiancée. It’s vital to your defense, Eric. And if we’re not prepared for what she aims to reveal—we might as well give up now.”

  “What about Rightchus? I thought you said—”

  “Rightchus is gone. We tried but can’t reach him. He cannot be found, so he’s out, Eric.”

  “Did you use the number I gave you?”

  “Yes, we tried. We traced it to an address in South Carolina. It was a Baptist church and they told my people that he left, but not on good terms. He apparently ripped off the church funds.”

  “Are you serious? How can Rightchus rip off funds from a church?”

  “It really doesn’t matter,” Max Roose said. “We must get to Sophia so she can shed some light on this Busta thing or it’s going to ruin our chances.”

  “Cornered…?”

  “Yes Eric. Cornered. The police had undercover agents around you and they’re gonna testify that you talked about Busta and you killing the wrong man,” Max Roose said, clapping his hands and jumping up. “That’s why this call to Sophia is imperative, Eric.”

  “What’s so fucking important about that?”

  “For one thing, how long have you known her?”

  “Ah since she was twenty-two or twenty-three or so,” Eric said, scratching his head. “Why?”

  “She has been around and probably knows everything about your affairs, right?” Max Roose said, pointing at Eric.

  “And so…?”

  “And so I want to know what she’s willing to testify to. If she corroborates the other side’s idea regarding your alliance with Busta then they could charge you with at least one count of murder in the first degree. And I don’t want that mess,” Max Roose said. “I want to know how much she knows,” he continued and shuffled papers on his desk.

  “She was there from the beginning. She knows everything,” Eric said, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

  He was thinking about the first time Sophia broke off their engagement. They were at the Long Island mansion in the Hamptons and he had gone outside to pick up the newspaper. It was still fresh in Eric’s mind.

  Clothed in a white terry-cloth robe and Sean Jean blue boxers, Eric Ascot dragged his Hermes sandals to the front lawn. Pulling out a mini recording device, Eric mumbled into it. Then he turned it off and returned it to his pocket. He was always ready for a new din.

  He glanced at the newspaper in his hand. He saw in the headlines an investigation concerning dirty cops. The next page contained a picture of himself, Sophia, and Mariuchi taken last night at the restaurant. The caption read, “Cozying up to mob boss.” It mentioned Eric and Mariuchi by name. Sophia joined Eric on the lawn. He quickly folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

  “How’d you like this to go on for about a week or so?” he asked leading her back to the house.

  “A week or so? Don’t tempt me Eric—you know I could use a vacation, baby,” Sophia said, placing wet kisses on his neck.

  “Let’s take one,” Eric said.

  “Eric, I haven’t had a real one in a long time.”

  “So, let’s start planning something, somewhere, maybe San Tropez…”

  Sophia’s eyes sparkled when she looked at him. She kissed him and walked away. The legal eagle went straight to her laptop and logged on to the Web. Before long she was sighing at the tourist attractions.

  “I need a few winks,” Eric said as she walked into the house heading toward his bedroom.

  “All right, big man, but you can’t sleep all day. We’ve got book our flight to San Tropez,” Sophia sang while grabbing the newspaper.

  Hours later, when he finally awoke Eric was greeted by an evil glare from Sophia. Despite her obvious anger, Sophia looked resplendent in her Channel skirt suit.

  “What’s the matter, hon?”

  “You didn’t want me to read about you being a damn mafia earner and all the other names they were calling you. You have some nerve, Eric, sweet-talking me to go on a vacation with you,” Sophia said accusingly. “What were you going to do? Have me with you on the lam, running from the law? Cause that’s who will be coming after you, Eric. Why can’t you be honest with me?”

  “There’s nothing honest about that. The article dealt with two bad cops who got killed. In fact it referred to them as rogue cops. Whoever took the picture was only trying to link me with Mariuchi by saying what? I’m part of their organization. I’m not a member of the mob. You know you can’t believe anything in the news. You know those people only write partial truths.” Eric looked serious and concerned.

  “Eric, this is serious. They have you under investigation. Can you please tell me why?”

  “I make good music and they have to know where all the deadly sound coming from.” His response was lighthearted, but his fear and need showed plainly through his awful joke. He watched Sophia sadly shaking her head. By now she had almost convinced herself that what wasn’t working in the relationship was Eric’s fault.

  “I don’t understand—if you love me, why can’t you just trust me and tell me what’s really going on, Eric?” she asked sobbing.

  “This shit all started when I, ah…well you know how close me and Busta was? Before he got killed we had ah…taken out this contract for the ones who raped Deedee. I told him about the rape and he was mad. He’s Deedee’s godfather. Then bullets started flying. Before you know it, he’s dead and the cops…”

  “Eric, wouldn’t it have been better to go to the police in the first place?”

  “Yeah, maybe—I mean in retrospect I should’ve, but what’s done is done,” Eric said in a flat, bored voice.

  “Why didn’t it stop there? Why was there bloodshed? There are men chasing you…”

  “Maybe it’s connected, maybe it’s not. Like I said, I really don’t know the details of what Busta did. I know the first one turned out to be the wrong guy and eventually we got the right guy.”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore. Eric. You could go to jail for life. Conspiracy to commit murder, solicitation to commit murder, and at least about two counts of murder, oh my God! How could you Eric? Now you’ve aligned yourself to… ah, these people with mobster connections and you actually think things are going to be easier? I’m an attorney. How do you think this makes me look? I could get disbarred,” Sophia angrily said.

  “That’s it,” Eric said in the flat voice of defeat.

  “I don’t want to hear from you until you resolve this Eric. You cannot be serious about getting married under these conditions. Call the car, Eric, I’ve had enough.”

  Sophia had made a veiled threat, but then she went and actually did it. Eric was not only put off by what he considered a betrayal by Sophia, but he was also deeply hurt. Sitting in his attorney’s office, Eric Ascot pondered the possibility of following his former fiancée’s advice. He was still thinking about Sophia when Max Roose’s voice jarred him into the present.

  “Then we’ve got to be prepared for her as a hostile,” Max Roose said. “This would all be easier if you sink your manly pride a bit and speak to her. Get close to her, you know…?”

  “I don’t think she wants me to do that, and you’re asking me to beg her? I won’t, Max. We just gonna have to go another route that’s all there is to it.”

  “Eric, I’m trying to spare us going that route. It could be handled, but would be a costly trip.”

  “Freedom ain’t a cheap thing, Max,” Eric said with a wry smile. “I got a funeral that I have to attend,” Eric said, glancing at a clock and looking at the Rolex on his wrist.

  “Whose, your own?” Max Roose joked.

  “Very funny, Max,” Eric said, standing and walking to the door. He waved at his attorney. “We’re in trouble, huh, Max?”

  “No. You are going to be buried alive in that courtroom if you d
on’t call Sophia so we can find out everything she’s going to talk about,” Max Roose said, getting up from his chair.

  His mind was still thinking about Sophia when Eric walked out the office. He met his chauffeur downstairs and they drove away. Eric Ascot’s mind returned to the scene with Sophia. It had been such a pleasant relationship until he hired the shooter. Then it all crumbled. Accompanied by his bodyguards, Eric Ascot walked inside his apartment and started to get dressed.

  He was nattily attired in a black suit, having a drink in his living room when he saw Coco and Deedee.

  “Are you guys ready?” he asked.

  Two pairs of red eyes silently stared back him. Then both girls nodded and they walked out. All three got inside the back of the limousine and it drove off. Even though Eric Ascot had the weight of his legal problems on his shoulder, he was still able to make all the final arrangements for Rachel Harvey’s burial.

  They arrived at Ortiz Funeral Home and saw the place was packed. Residents from the apartment building, some known others unknown, were there inside and outside. Most were dressed in black, but there was a group of individuals wearing T-shirt with a picture of Rachel Harvey emblazoned on the front. It was the same photo Coco had kept of her mother. “RIP Rachel” was inscribed on the back.

  Inside, the place was buzzing with talk of how Rachel Harvey died. Some were angry and others saddened, and by the time Coco walked in, there was solemn silence. She walked down to where her mother lay in a white coffin awaiting interment.

  Rows of onlookers and mourners walked by and Coco sat quietly in front with Deedee and Eric Ascot. They watched Kim and Tina, along with Mrs. Jones stopping for an observance. Other residents from the neighborhood stopped and stared at the deceased woman. They were all quietly surprised when Sophia made her way down the aisle and stopped to pay her condolences.

  Eric Ascot harrumphed and got out of his seat when Sophia walked over. He hurried away without making eye contact as Sophia hugged both Coco and Deedee. Eric returned to find that she was sitting in a seat between Deedee and Coco. Then there was a slight commotion and heightened buzz as Silky Black, The Chop Shop Crew, Lord Finesse, Show Biz and AG, Jigga Man, Fat Joe and other music royalty drifted into the hall. They sat in the front along with Coco and listened intently.