by K'wan
“Right now you’re probably wondering, what kind of man am I to have someone who I claimed to love hung like cattle, waiting for the slaughter, huh?” Christian asked as if he was reading Meeka’s mind. “To answer your unspoken question, I am a man who will not tolerate disloyalty. You see, young Robbie here let his ego get in the way of his better judgment and got to running his mouth to some people who he had no business talking to. As a result, something that I’ve been planning for months has potentially been compromised and we lost two of our own, Adam and Bess.”
Meeka was surprised and hurt to hear this. She liked Adam and Bess. They were two cute kids, barely out of high school and so madly in love with each other that Meeka sometimes wondered if the world outside of their relationship even existed to them. Adam was cool, and always kept a smile on his face, but would bust his gun on command. Meeka often got the impression that he wanted out of the life, but his fear of disappointing Christian kept him in it. Bess was a bit of a different case. She had no taste for the lifestyle they had chosen, but hung close to Christian’s crew because Adam was a part of it. Mentally, she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Bess had a heart of gold. Adam and Bess were like the crew’s unofficial children and everybody took turns looking out for them. Even Frank, who didn’t seem to like anyone except Christian, did his part when it came to Adam and Bess.
“Adam was a soldier,” Christian continued. “He understood the rules of the game, but Bess . . . My sweet, dimwitted Bess.” His voice was heavy with emotion. “She was an innocent. That girl wouldn’t kill a mosquito if she caught it sipping from her arm. Bess and Adam died in a most cruel way all because you whispered into the ear of a bitch, who whispered into the ear of a nigga who tipped our target off.”
“Christian, that bitch was lying! Her and that other nigga twisted my words!” Robbie tried to explain.
“So says the man who is standing in the shadow of the end of his life; well, in your case, hanging in the shadow,” Christian said with an amused smirk. He eased off his golden jacket and handed it to Boogie. “Frank, my bag please.” He rolled his sleeves up. Frank handed him the bag, which Christian placed on the floor before Robbie and popped it open. “What I’ve found is that a man who thinks he’s about to die will build a dam of lies to try to prolong the inevitable flood of what’s coming, even if only to extend his life for a few moments.” He retrieved a pair of rubber gloves from the bag and slipped them on. “But a man who knows he’s about to suffer,” he said, and removed several nasty-looking blades from the bag to spread them out on the floor, “will spill the truth in rivers.”
“Boogie, don’t let him do this to me,” Robbie begged. Boogie just turned his back. “Frank.” He turned to the bigger man. “This is me, your li’l homie. Help me out!” Li’l homie was the nickname Frank had given him.
Frank shrugged his broad shoulders. “You ceased to be my li’l homie when you went against the grain.” Frank then turned his back also.
Robbie continued to try to appeal to Christian, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Christian selected two blades: one with a nasty curve at the end and the other thin and sharpened to a razor-fine point. “I once met a man by the name of Kaplan, and had the pleasure of spending an evening with him at the craps tables in Atlantic City. While I watched him gamble away every dime in his pocket he told me something that I still hold dear to this day. He said that the most satisfying debts were those collected in blood. You, my one-time protégé, will be a testament to that.” He struck the blades against each other, causing them to spark.
“I can’t watch this.” Meeka made to turn away, but Christian’s cold voice stopped her.
“Don’t you fucking move,” Christian hissed, pointing one of the blades at her accusingly. “You will watch and you will remember,” he told her before starting in on Robbie with the blades.
Christian began slicing off strips of Robbie’s flesh, starting with his thighs, while firing off questions. Meeka had to give it to Robbie, he lasted almost a full minute into the interrogation before he was telling Christian everything he knew and then some. Robbie rattled off names, dates, and addresses while Christian stripped him of his skin. He even confessed to cheating on his girlfriend in the tenth grade. For the most part the information Robbie’s babbling didn’t mean much to Meeka, but two names he spoke made her pay closer attention: Chucky and Ramses. She had no clue what the connection could’ve been between them, but she dared not ask.
“This is bad. All bad.” Boogie shook his head in disappointment while he processed Robbie’s confession.
“Indeed it is, my overweight friend.” Christian placed his soiled blades back into the bag. “Robbie fucked us, but this changes nothing. A retainer paid is a contract honored.”
“So what do you wanna do about that?” Frank asked, nodding at what was left of Robbie. Christian had turned him into the victim in a slasher flick, reducing Robbie to little more than six feet of open cuts and mumbled prayers.
“There’s nothing more to be learned. This piece of shit wanted a pat on the head so bad, give him one; right between his fucking eyes,” Christian spat.
Frank reached inside his leather blazer and pulled out his .45, ready to put young Robbie out of his misery, but Christian stopped him.
“Not you, her.” Christian pointed a bloody finger at Meeka.
“Me?” Meeka was shocked.
“Yes, you,” Christian insisted. “Meeka, since Boogie brought you around all I’ve heard you scream is how you’re trying to come up, so I’m giving you an opportunity to prove you’re serious about it.”
“Christian, she ain’t ready for this kinda shit. Let me do it,” Boogie offered.
“Then you should’ve thought about that before you brought her in,” Christian told his friend. “Don’t keep me waiting, Meeka.”
“Christian, I’ll admit that you guys have been there for me when nobody else was and plenty of nights you kept me from starving. For this you will forever have my gratitude and my loyalty, but to be honest, I don’t think I’m built to catch no body,” Meeka said honestly. Hijacking and busting heads was one thing, but murder was a whole different ballgame.
“Maybe you’ve mistaken my statement for a request.” Christian took the .45 from Frank and went to stand in front of Meeka. “I’m not asking you to kill a man. I’m telling you what’s required of each and every member of this dysfunctional little family of ours. You gotta pay to play, baby, and the price of admission is blood.” He extended the gun to her. “Unless you’re ready to go back to living in that one-room shack and putting your name on the orange juice and mama’s house?”
Meeka felt every eye in the room on her, including Robbie’s. There was a good chance that if she refused she would still be allowed to leave, but it wasn’t a bet she felt confident in taking. It was just like Boogie had told her earlier: everything with Christian was a test and Robbie was an example of what happened to those who failed.
“Okay,” Meeka said, taking the gun from Christian. She stood there for a time, aiming the gun at Robbie. Meeka had fired a gun before, but never at a living target.
Christian eased up behind her, standing close enough to Meeka that she could feel his body heat. He slid his hands down her arms. She was trembling so bad it was a wonder she didn’t drop the gun. Christian wrapped his delicate yet sure hands around hers to help steady the gun. “Just relax,” he breathed into her ear, causing the hairs on her neck to stand up. “And fire.” He tapped her finger.
Meeka’s eyes instinctively closed when the gun kicked. The retort of her gun was like someone letting off a firecracker near her head and it took a few seconds for the ringing in her ears to pass. The smell of gun smoke singed her nose and throat giving her the urge to cough. All was silent save for the fading echo of the .45. When Meeka finally opened her eyes she beheld her handiwork . . . her price of admission.
Robbie hung there, lifeless eyes staring out and seeing nothing. A section of his th
roat and shoulder were missing, exposing his now bare collarbone. She wanted to turn away from the gruesome sight, but couldn’t. A man was dead and she was now a murderer.
Christian cupped her face lovingly in his gloved hands. “My little rose has sprouted her first of many thorns.” He kissed her on the forehead. When he removed his hands from her face there were bloody fingerprints on her cheeks. “Frank, take care of the mess. Me and Boogie are going to take Meeka back to Boogie’s place to get cleaned up. Meet us there when you’re done.”
Meeka and her newfound family went back to Boogie’s house where she stripped and put her clothes in a plastic bag for disposal. They wanted to make sure they destroyed any and all trace evidence that could connect them to the murder. Meeka had loved that outfit when she bought it, but after what she’d done she doubted she’d ever be able to look at it again let alone wear it. Good riddance.
She stood naked in Boogie’s shower, letting the water wash over her as she reflected on what she had done and where her actions would leave her. Christian was like the sly spider who had caught her in his web. It baffled her how someone so beautiful could have such an ugly heart.
Meeka looked down watching the water and soap carry Robbie’s blood down the drain. Blood washed away from the skin easy enough, but it left a permanent stain on one’s soul.
CHAPTER 13
The club where Stacy danced was surprisingly nicer than Li’l Monk had expected it to be considering the neighborhood it was in. They were stopped at the door and patted down by a beefy white guy wearing a police badge. Li’l Monk was nervous at first until Omega explained to him that sometimes off-duty cops moonlit as security for different clubs. Li’l Monk was somewhat of a novice on the club scene. He had been to a few, but clubs really weren’t his thing. He hated crowds, even more so when he wasn’t allowed to carry his gun. He expressed to Omega how uncomfortable he was with leaving the guns in the car, but Omega assured him that they’d be good. They were parked right out front and besides that Omega had two razor blades taped to the collar of his shirt.
Omega seemed to think that being guests of Stacy’s would’ve gotten them some special treatment, but it didn’t. Their policy was in order for them to get a private table they had to buy two bottles at $300 each. Li’l Monk wanted to tell them stick their policy and overpriced bottles up their ass, but Omega dropped the bread so they could party comfortably. That’s how Omega was. He didn’t mind dropping money on a good time. Li’l Monk was more conservative, choosing to fly under the radar and stack his bread, but Omega lived out loud. He spent his money just as quickly as he made it, and made no apologies for it. Li’l Monk had once tried to check him on his reckless spending and Omega simply said, “I live every day like it’s my last, because I never know when the streets will call me home.”
When they finally got inside Li’l Monk found the place to be smaller than he expected. Several small tables littered the main floor while the booths were set against the walls. The main stage was situated behind the bar and boasted three twelve-foot poles, two of which were occupied with young women trying to earn their keep. It was quaint, but what it lacked in size it made up for in décor and choice ladies. Every time Li’l Monk thought he had seen the baddest chick in the spot, one even more beautiful would walk by. Li’l Monk had been reluctant to come with Omega, but now that he was there he was glad he did.
While Li’l Monk nursed his Hennessy and Coke, watching asses of all shapes and sizes walk past, Omega sat with his phone to his ear. It must’ve been an important call because Omega had been totally ignoring the beautiful Dominican chick with the huge ass who was trying to get his attention. When Omega was done with his call he slipped his phone back in his pocket and smiled like the cat who had swallowed the canary.
“I take it that was good news?” Li’l Monk asked.
“Great news,” Omega informed him. “Tut handled that piece of business from earlier.”
“Seems like Tut’s been handling a lot of business lately,” Li’l Monk said slyly.
Omega looked at him, knowing his friend well enough to read between the lines. “C’mon, man. You still on that? Dawg, it was Ramses who bumped him up not me. Even still, we’re the ones who brought the strip back to life when we took it over; me and you, not me and him. What me and Tut got going on ain’t got nothing to do with our thing.”
“Sure feels like it when you’re giving Tut and his maggot-ass crew slices of our pie,” Li’l Monk shot back.
Omega waved him off. “That was about business, nothing more. Tut did me a solid so I let him stretch his legs a little bit, that’s all.”
“Right, and you never did give me the rundown on exactly what it was that was big enough to earn him a whole block in our territory.”
The statement caught Omega off guard, but he recovered quickly. “Just some shit that needed to be handled that couldn’t be traced back to me or you.”
“I’ve noticed lately that there’s been a lot going on that I’m not involved in,” Li’l Monk said. It was merely an observation, but it sounded like an accusation.
Omega regarded Li’l Monk for a time. They hadn’t been friends that long, but circumstances and mortal sins had forged a brotherhood between them stronger than most friends who had known each other all their lives. Li’l Monk had pulled Omega’s ass out of the fire more times than he cared to remember and vice versa. If Omega couldn’t depend on anyone in the world he could depend on Li’l Monk and that meant something. He knew he hadn’t been keeping it one hundred with his friend and decided to come clean.
“Okay, check it.” Omega leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know I ain’t gotta tell you that what I’m about to say stays between me and you, right?”
Li’l Monk gave him a look that said he was offended by the question.
“I don’t think all is as well as we’re being led to believe in the kingdom of the Pharaoh,” Omega confessed.
“What makes you say that, O? Did Ramses say something?” Li’l Monk asked, thinking of his own suspicions.
“It ain’t about what he’s saying; it’s about what he isn’t saying. Ramses has been acting differently lately. He ain’t never been the most friendly muthafucka, but it’s like he’s always sour about something these days. He don’t even come around like he used to. Most of the time I communicate with him through Huck or one of his other flunkies. Then you got all these new niggas he’s bringing in. Every time I turn around he’s recruited some fucking knucklehead I gotta babysit. It almost feels like he’s preparing for something.”
“Something like what?” Li’l Monk asked.
Omega shrugged. “I wish I knew. Ramses don’t tell me shit no more unless it’s got to do with the strip or a muthafucka needing to die. He’s on some real secretive shit lately. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s going on, but over the last few weeks things have changed. I’m thinking that maybe it’s because of all the problems popping up he’s under a lot of stress. We go through enough holding these corners and strips down so I can only imagine what Ramses gotta deal with trying to keep Pharaoh’s shit in order.”
Li’l Monk scratched his chin. “Could be that, could be something else. You speak to anybody else about this?”
“Nah, only you,” Omega assured him.
“Good, and make sure you don’t. That kinda talk whispered in the wrong ears can get you clipped,” Li’l Monk said seriously. “For now just keep your eyes open and your ears to the streets, and I’ll do the same.”
“Fo sho, Li’l Monk,” Omega agreed. He knew just what his partner was thinking and he couldn’t say that he was surprised, especially since it had been he who planted the seeds. What he said about Ramses acting different was true, but what he left out was the part he had contributed to Ramses’s behavior. The stunt he and King Tut had pulled with Petey and the Puerto Ricans had put a strain on the relationship between them and Ramses, but so had Li’l Monk and the Italians. They were two peas in the s
ame pod, trying not to end up in the boiler; and in their circumstances Omega saw a potential solution to each of their problems. If either one of their situations went sour the odd man out would need an ally. Omega was sure he’d stand tall and die with his lie about what had happened to Petey, but he couldn’t say the same about King Tut. If it came down to it Omega knew the best way to put a vicious dog down was to sic a rabid one on it.
“You gonna finally pay me some mind and tip me or keep whispering to your friend?” Stacy threw herself on Omega’s lap. She had changed out of her street clothes and was now wearing her work attire: a black lace bra top and black lace thong. With a face full of makeup and a platinum blond wig she looked totally different from the girl who had been braiding Omega’s hair on the stoop.
“Damn, baby, you look good enough to eat.” Omega cupped her ass.
“That’s what I’m hoping.” Stacy twirled one of his dreads around her finger. “Oh, this is my friend Tiffany.” She motioned to a girl who had been so quiet that she was almost invisible standing there.
Li’l Monk looked up and was confronted by a caramel beauty, who couldn’t have stood taller than five foot five and that was in heels. She had big, dreamy brown eyes and full lips that curved at the ends as if she was going to smile at any moment. Unlike the rest of the girls, who were parading around in elaborate outfits, she wore a simple green two-piece bathing suit that rode up on her high hips. Her face looked like it had been professionally made up, but you could still tell that she was young, probably one of the youngest girls working the joint. She stood there twirling a cherry Blow Pop between her lips, looking at Li’l Monk. It wasn’t a sexual look, but to him it felt like one.
