by Foye, K'wan
“Feels good.” Animal adjusted the chain. “Real good. They niggaz ain’t gonna see me coming.”
“They will unless you do something about this.” Kastro ran her fingers through his tangled hair. “Baby boy, it’s a crying shame how you’re letting this beautiful hair go to shit.”
“I ain’t had too much time for grooming, Kastro.”
“Obviously,” she snickered. “Grab them scissors, comb, and hair grease off that cabinet over there.” She nodded toward a rickety dresser in the corner.
“Kastro, you’re outta your rabid-ass mind if you think I’m cutting my hair.” Like Samson, he believed his strength came from his hair.
“Tayshawn, I would never disrespect you like that. Just bring me the stuff and let me take care of this,” Kastro ordered him.
She gave Animal’s hair a good washing before greasing and combing it. When she was done, it was a bit shorter because she had to cut out some of the knots, but when it was done, she had restored it to the rich, beautiful black mop that had made all the ladies fall in love with Animal, including her. With a proud smile, she handed Animal a mirror to admire her handiwork.
“Ain’t seen that dude in a while.” Animal spoke of his reflection in the mirror.
Kastro stood behind him, placing her chin on his shoulder. She looked at their cheek to cheek reflection and smiled. “Glad to have you back.” She kissed him on the cheek. Then Kastro turned Animal around to face her. She zipped up his hoodie for him as if he were a child and brushed his shoulders off. As a parting gift, she kissed Animal on his forehead. “Go out into those streets and remind them who you are, Animal. Show them that real niggaz don’t die.”
TWENTY-TWO
“Real Niggaz Don’t Die,” PUMPED FROM THE iPod mounted on the pink dock in Frankie’s bathroom while she mouthed the words without missing a beat. She loved N.W.A., and the song was one of her favorites to bump when she was feeling herself, and that night she was in rare form. Her last few nights on the town had been about business, but this night it would be just her and her girls having a good time.
Frankie was just applying the finishing touches to her hair when she heard a knock at her door. She removed the towel that she had wrapped around her shoulders to keep from getting makeup on her white shirt and used it to wipe the excess oil sheen off her hands before heading for the door. It seemed like the closer she got to the door the more intense the knocking grew.
“Hold on, damn it!” Frankie shouted down the hall. She crossed the living room fuming as the knocking increased. She snatched the door open, lips pursed to go off, and saw Dena on the other side. Though Frankie was now holding the door open, Dena was still knocking on it, smiling mischievously.
“You’re such an ass,” Frankie laughed, and stepped back for Dena to enter.
“Takes one to know one,” Dena capped as she passed her.
“Somebody is stepping out ready to play.” Frankie admired Dena’s outfit. She was wearing a blue sweater dress with white Go-Go boots and big plastic white earrings. She’d even ratted her hair to a high puff to kick off the retro look.
“This ain’t about nothing. I’ve had this outfit for a while, but I just haven’t had a reason to wear it.” Dena tugged at the dress. “I see you ain’t pulling a lot of punches tonight either.” She checked out Frankie’s outfit, consisting of a fitted white blouse, skintight black jeans, and a cute purple peep-toe heel. She had done her eyes in shades of purple and white to match the blazer she’d laid across the couch to go with the outfit.
“Porsha is my girl, but we ain’t seen each other in a hot minute. I can’t show up having her think I fell off,” Frankie explained.
“Wow, this Porsha chick must be something else if Ms. I-don’t-give-a-fuck is going out of her way to get all dolled up to see her,” Dena said sarcastically.
“Stop it, five.” Frankie raised her hand. “It ain’t even that type of party with me and Porsha. We like sisters; that’s my dawg.” Frankie patted her chest for emphasis.
“Damn, I was just playing with you, Frankie. Let me find out.” Dena looked at her suspiciously.
“Whatever, heifer.” Frankie rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you twist something up while I finish getting ready?”
“And who says I’m holding?” Dena asked.
“I say, that’s who. I saw you when you met Rasta on the corner.” Frankie laughed.
“Nosey bitch,” Dena said, pulling a bag of weed from her purse and a Dutch. “But on some G shit, what’s up with ya peoples that we about to get up with? You know I’m funny about allowing new people in my circle, Frankie, especially them stuck-up Harlem bitches, no offense.”
“Harlem on the rise and you don’t want no problems with us guys,” Frankie sang. “Nah, but on the real, Porsha is good peoples. You know I wouldn’t have you around anybody that wasn’t good peoples.”
“And how do I know that when this will be my first time ever meeting anybody from your past?” Dena questioned.
Frankie looked at Dena and frowned. “You say it like you’re the new thing about to get introduced to the new boo. It ain’t that serious, ma.”
“Us or this?” Dena shot back.
“Neither, Dena. We’re having a girls’ night out with an old friend. It ain’t too much more to it,” Frankie said coolly.
“If you say so,” Dena said.
Frankie didn’t like the way Dena said it. She had noticed that since they had been kicking it a little more frequently Dena had showed signs of possessiveness. Frankie enjoyed her romps with Dena because she gave her something she was hard-pressed to find in guys, compassion, but that was about as deep as the rabbit hole went. Frankie dabbled in pussy soup, but she wouldn’t have called herself a lesbian. More like lost in translation and trying to make sense of it all. Dena had designs on what she wanted to do with her future, which was commendable, but Frankie wasn’t thinking that far ahead. She was just worried about getting through one day to the next and letting everything else fall into place.
“So where are we going to hang out, Harlem?” Dena asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“Actually, Porsha is coming to Brooklyn. We’re meeting downtown at BBQ’s, smart-ass.” Frankie checked her. Finally tiring of Dena’s shit she decided to check her. “Yo, you’ve been talking real sideways since you walked in here. What’s good with you tonight?”
“I’m a’ight,” Dena said as if it was nothing.
Frankie gave her a disbelieving look. “Dena, don’t lie about it, and then spend the whole night talking out the side of ya neck. If something is going on with you, then let’s get it out in the open now so it doesn’t fuck up our night. I wanna have a good time, and I’m not really up for attitude from you or anybody else.”
Dena hesitated. “It’s nothing, Frankie. I’m just going through some shit with my moms and them.”
“Is everything okay? You know we peoples, and you can talk to me about anything, D,” Frankie said sincerely.
“Well, you know when my brother got killed, she took it harder than any of us,” Dena began. “Shannon was on the run for years from a body he caught, and the next time any of us would ever see him is when we took Moms to identify his body. Shannon was a straight-up gangsta, but he was still Mama’s only son.”
“Damn, I’m sorry, Dena,” Frankie told her.
“The fucked-up part is that my sister keeps trying to put it in her head that all this was my fault,” Dena said.
“That shit is foul! How she gonna put it out there like you had something to do with your brother getting killed?” Frankie was hot. She knew what it felt like to be surrounded by family and still be the outsider.
“The most hurtful thing about it is that, in a way, she’s right,” Dena continued. “Shannon always warned me to stay away from these street niggaz, but I was too stuck on myself to listen.” Her eyes misted up. “When I told Shannon what had happened to me, he cried like a baby. Until that point I didn’t know my brother
could cry. When the tears finally dried and I saw the look in his eyes, there was no doubt in my mind what Shannon would do.”
“Did you try to stop him?” Frankie asked. She didn’t know where the question came from, but it was out there now.
Dena looked at her with sad eyes. “I thought about it, but I didn’t. I mean, why should I have? Those men raped and humiliated me, Frankie, and all I could think about was revenge. Shannon was my avenging angel. My big brother would still be here if I’d kept my legs and my mouth closed.”
Frankie had heard the ghost stories the neighborhood told about Dena’s older brother Shannon, and how he gave it up. Word was that he was a stone killer and would give it to anybody who felt like they wanted it. Frankie had always pictured him as some super-thug, but hearing Dena fill in the blanks changed her perception. He was just a young man trying to take care of his family. She couldn’t do much but respect that.
“Dena, you can’t carry that one. You were young and naïve, and those guys had no right to do what they did to you. Shannon did what any big brother, or real nigga, period, would’ve done, and that’s go all out to protect his little sister. There’s not a jury in the land that would’ve convicted him on that one.”
“I guess you’re right. Too bad his conviction came in the streets instead of a courtroom or I might still have a big brother.” Dena gave a sad smirk. “Enough of this sad shit. Let’s hit the streets and get this party started.”
“Amen to that.” Frankie grabbed her blazer and keys. “Tonight, we ain’t two broke hoes living in an overpriced tenement; we’re divas out to paint the town.”
“Say that shit.” Dena gave Frankie a high five.
The two girls exited the apartment, leaving their troubles on the kitchen counter, and set out to see what the night had in store for them.
When Dena and Frankie came out of the building they were greeted by Vashaun and Bess, who were sitting in the exact same spots they had left them in hours prior, in almost the exact same poses. The only things that had changed were their eyes were a little more slanted from the weed and the pungent odor of alcohol was a bit heavier. No matter what went on, the party never stopped with those two.
“Look at these bitches, all gussied up and shit,” Bess said snidely.
“If you think this is gussied, you need to see me when I really throw it on.” Frankie smoothed back a strand of her hair that slipped out of place.
“How y’all rolling to a party and didn’t invite us?” Vashaun asked.
“We’re not going to a party. We’re going to hook up with one of Frankie’s peeps from Harlem and kick it downtown,” Dena explained.
“Let me find out you on some Harlem shit now, Dena,” Bess said accusingly.
“Bitch, don’t play yaself. You know I’m Bed-Stuy until I die, but unlike y’all stoop rats, I realize that the world is bigger than Brooklyn,” Dena shot back.
Their word exchange was interrupted when a car pulled up and parked across the street from their building. A young man hopped out and looked around suspiciously, before locking his car and heading in their direction. He was dressed in dark clothes and moving with extreme caution, which most likely meant he was up to no good, but that was nothing unusual for that neighborhood. He was a handsome dude, with girlish lips and long hair that he kept brushing out of his face. He was very easy on the eyes and all the girls took notice, but it was Vashaun who made a move.
“Pssst,” Vashaun catcalled at him. He spared her a brief glance, but kept it moving. “Word, it’s like that, shorty?” she called after him. “That nigga probably gay,” she said scornfully.
“Or somebody hipped him to all them miles you got on your pussy,” Bess teased her.
“Fuck you, Bess.” Vashaun gave her the finger.
“He looks mad familiar.” Dena stared at his face as he passed. She had seen him somewhere before but couldn’t place him right off. He must’ve felt her eyes on him because he adjusted his hoodie and put a little pep in his step.
“He looks like that rapper.” Bess observed him approaching the entrance of the Blood Orchid.
“What rapper?” Vashaun asked. She considered herself an authority on celebrities due to her extensive research in the quest of trying to land one.
“You know the one.” Bess racked her brain trying to place a name with his face. “The kid from Harlem. Frankie you’re from Harlem so I know you know who I’m talking about.”
“Bess, just because Harlem is small doesn’t mean we all know each other,” Frankie said. “Besides, he can’t be no rapper rolling up in there.” She nodded at his fleeting form as he disappeared inside Blood Orchid.
“Word up, because don’t nothing but killers hang in that spot,” Dena agreed.
The girls debated what they thought went on inside the Blood Orchid for a time, then the taxi Frankie had called pulled to the curb and beeped the horn.
“Our chariot awaits.” Frankie nudged Dena and made her way toward the waiting taxi.
“A’ight, we’ll see y’all chicks later,” Dena told Bess and Vashaun before falling in step with Frankie.
“Maybe me and Bess can meet up with y’all. Where you gonna be?” Vashaun called after them.
Frankie stopped short and gave Vashaun a warm smile. “Wherever the wind blows us,” she said and ducked into the cab with Dena, leaving Vashaun and Bess feeling like the odd chicks out.
“I can’t stand them uppity bitches.” Bess spat on the ground.
Vashaun snorted. “Word, they think they better than somebody, like we ain’t got no class.”
“Fuck them and their girls’ night,” Bess snarled. “I got five on the next bottle, what’s good?”
“I got enough to put with that and get a pint of something to get us going, and I know I can game scrams down the street for a free bag of weed. That’s enough to start our own little party right here on the block,” Vashaun said enthusiastically.
“See how easy that came together,” Bess smiled. “Let them bitches have their fun. I’d rather chill on the stoop than go downtown with them anyway.”
“Me too,” Vashaun agreed.
Neither of the girls sounded very convincing. For all the shit Vashaun and Bess talked about other people, they couldn’t even get enough money together to start a proper party, but to them, a little was better than nothing, so they were still winning. While Vashaun and Bess plotted on their next buzz, Frankie and Dena were on their way to downtown Brooklyn to meet up with Porsha to start a night that none of them would soon forget.
TWENTY-THREE
ALONZO SAT WITH HIS ELBOWS ON THE table and his hands steepled. In front of him was a half-eaten plate of Sticky Wings and a corn on the cob he had barely touched. Outside of the heavy dent in his Texas-sized Hennessey Colada, his meal was only slightly picked over. His head was cocked slightly to the side, and the faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of his lips as he occasionally nodded like he was actually interested in what the chick sitting across from him was blabbing about.
Veronica was a chocolate honey with love-me eyes and fuck-me from the back hips that he knew from back when he was running in the streets heavy, who he happened to bump into again during a chance meeting on the Triborough Bridge. Alonzo had been driving out to Queens with Lakim to pick some bread up, and when they went through the toll, Veronica happened to be the booth attendant. Back when Alonzo was still in the streets heavy she had been his main chick. Veronica was seriously into dope boys, and Alonzo was a star on the rise. The two chopped it up at the toll booth for a minute, holding up traffic, before exchanging numbers and promising to keep in contact.
Between both their hectic schedules it was hard to keep that promise, but they finally set a date nearly a month after the exchange. Veronica was living in Brooklyn, so Alonzo suggested they do something out there to make it convenient for her, but in all truthfulness, he was protecting his own best interests. North of Canal Street he was guilty by blood and association and didn
’t want to play the odds. The war brewing between King James and Shai Clark had ripped Harlem right down the middle, with the young outlaws riding with King James and the old regime standing behind the Clarks. King James had heart, but Shai had an army. Tensions ran high in the hood because everybody knew the storm was coming; they just weren’t sure when it would start raining.
In a stroke of luck, King had broken down and let Alonzo hold his wheels. He looked like new money when he pulled up in front of Lafayette Gardens to scoop Veronica up in the sleek black SUV sitting on bulky rims. He turned quite a few heads, but Veronica turned even more when she came out of her building rocking a form-fitting purple dress that showed off every last one of her curves. Her thick hips and ass looked like rolling hills as she sauntered down the walkway toward the car. Alonzo couldn’t help but smile at the thought of peeling Veronica out of the dress before the night was over.
The date was off to a great start but would hit a few rough patches on the way to dinner. The plan was dinner and a movie, in no particular order. There was a movie theater on Court Street, which was around the corner from BBQ’s, so Alonzo figured he could kill two birds with one stone without doing too much moving around. He and Veronica smoked the other half of the blunt clip while reminiscing about old times on their way to the theater.
Alonzo had his heart set on seeing DMX’s new action flick that had just come out, but there was also a new romantic comedy in theaters starring Kate Hudson. Taking Veronica into consideration, he bought tickets to the romantic comedy, thinking she would enjoy that more than the bloody action flick. Fifteen minutes into the movie, however, Veronica made him regret his decision. She hemmed and hawed all through the movie about everything from the lack of designer names in the character’s wardrobe to the fact that there weren’t enough black people in the movie. When a couple sitting behind them politely asked Veronica to keep it down she got belligerent and threatened to slap the girl. Alonzo was able to calm the situation, and he and Veronica moved to different seats where they watched what was left of the movie in tense silence.
