As the elevator ascended toward the second floor, Kola’s nerves were shaking. She wanted to talk to the bitch and see the baby for herself. She brought Candace along for backup just in case the situation escalated into something much more serious. But she just truly needed to see for herself.
After the elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor, Kola stepped off first, with Candace right behind her.
“What apartment is this bitch in?” Candace asked.
“4B.”
The girls looked for 4B, which was two doors down from the elevator. When they approached the door, they heard rap music blaring from inside.
Kola glanced at Candace. “I just wanna talk first,” she said.
Candace smirked and nodded.
Kola turned to the door and knocked. The girls were ready for anything. Their hair was styled into long ponytails, and they were dressed in sneakers and jeans, but no jewelry. In a fight, earrings and chains would be the first thing to grab for, easy to snatch off.
Kola knocked harder after no one answered the first time. The rap music lowered, and they heard a woman’s voice shout out, “Who is it?”
“I wanna speak to Cynthia,” Kola shouted in response.
“Who’s asking for her?”
“Just someone that wants to talk to her about something important,” Kola said.
“Like what?”
Candace was getting impatient, but Kola gestured for her to be quiet and chill out.
Kola then said, “It’s about Cross.”
The door suddenly opened up, and a young, beautiful-looking woman emerged, whose looks alone could give Kola a run for her money. Kola was shocked herself. Cross definitely had good taste in picking his women.
The two ladies looked at each other silently. Cynthia stood the same height as Kola and had the same curvy figure. She was wearing a skimpy T-shirt that exposed her cut abs and pierced belly button and a pair of tight-fitting jeans that highlighted her hips and round ass. Her hair flowed down to her back, and her facial features were flawless.
“What about him?” Cynthia asked.
“You know him?”
“How do you know him?” Cynthia countered.
“Bitch, I’m asking you the question,” Kola returned.
“Bitch?”
“How you know Cross?” Kola’s eyes looked past Cynthia and gazed into her apartment momentarily. From where she stood, she knew the apartment was well furnished, and the diamond bracelet around the girl’s wrist and the necklace she had on looked expensive.
“Bitch, you fuckin’ her man?” Candace stepped closer to Cynthia, in a threatening way.
“Her man?” Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “Bitch, that’s my nigga. Cross is my son’s father.”
Kola’s heart sank into her stomach, and she wanted to throw up.
Cynthia stood with a posture that let it be known she wasn’t about to be bullied in front of her own home. She was pretty but carried that hood mentality. She was a Brooklyn bitch to the fullest.
“Y’all bitches need to step away from my fuckin’ door. My son is ’sleep, and I ain’t tryin’ to explain myself to y’all. I’ve been fuckin’ wit’ Cross for two years, so who the fuck is you, bitch, to come up in my crib wit’ that bullshit? Step the fuck off!”
Candace couldn’t tolerate the insult to her friend any longer. She lunged forward, striking the girl upside her head with her closed fist and a hard blow. Cynthia stumbled back into the apartment, throwing her arms up in defense, but Candace was all over her like flies on shit.
They tussled in the short foyer, with some hair-pulling and their clothes getting torn. Candace had the advantage for a moment, but Cynthia was far from being just a pretty face. She pushed Candace off her and let off a right hook that connected with Candace’s jaw. The blow knocked Candace back, and then Cynthia charged forward, hitting her again repeatedly with a series of blows.
Kola jumped into the fight, snatching Cynthia by her long, flowing hair and yanking her back like she was pulling on a rope. Cynthia jerked from the pull and screamed out. Kola tore into Cynthia like a lion. They were in the living room falling over each other and knocking into the furniture, beating on each other like a Vegas fight. Cynthia was holding her ground, but Kola was the more skilled and brutal fighter. She had Cynthia on one knee with the girl’s hair knotted around her fist tightly.
“Get the fuck off my fuckin’ hair!” Cynthia shouted, trying to free her long hair from Kola’s clutch. Cynthia was relentless and refused to be beaten.
Kola tightened her grip.
Candace was furious. She had a bleeding lip and a bruised eye. She pulled the .380 from her waistband and charged at Cynthia with the intent to kill. Before Cynthia could look up and defend herself, Candace gun-butted her savagely, and Cynthia went down.
“Stupid bitch!” Candace screamed. She continued to pistol-whip Cynthia until her hands were covered in blood.
Kola had to pull Candace off Cynthia, who was sprawled out on the floor and not moving, her face caked with blood.
“Fuck that bitch, Kola!” Candace said, breathing hard like a marathon runner.
Kola looked down at Cross’ side bitch, unconscious and lying on her side, blood trickling from the open wound that Candace had caused. At that moment, Kola wasn’t the savvy businesswoman with the intense sex parties that high-profile men attended or the queen bitch that moved drugs in the streets. At that very moment, she was a young girl in love. A teenager with a crushed heart. Her true colors were exposed in Cynthia’s apartment. Her ponytail had been pulled loose from the fighting, and she had scratches on her face.
The sudden sound of a baby crying made Kola spin her head in the direction of one of the bedrooms in the hallway. She slowly proceeded toward the sound.
Candace stared at Kola and asked, “Kola, where you going?”
“I gotta see him,” she answered gruffly, her back turned to Candace.
She continued down the hallway and walked to where the baby was heard crying. She walked into one of the two bedrooms in the apartment. The walls to the room were painted a light blue, and it was decorated with a stylish white crib near the window. Many toys and teddy bears were scattered about, and an old-school wooden rocking chair was near the child’s crib. The room looked like something out of a Macy’s catalog. It took money to style the baby’s room the way it is, Kola thought.
Kola walked over to the crib and peered down at the baby crying. He wore blue pajamas ornamented with small teddy bear heads. He had a full head of dark, black hair and was the color of peanut butter. He was a cute baby, and Kola couldn’t help but to notice the resemblance to Cross.
She reached down and carefully picked up the crying infant. It brought back painful memories of the abortion she’d had without telling Cross. Then she lied to him, telling him that she was pregnant with his baby, so he wouldn’t take a plea and end up in prison. Kola assumed that lying about a pregnancy was a sure way of keeping him around. But her heart felt like it was being twisted in a pair of vise-grips as she actually held the child that her man had fathered.
Kola soothed the baby in her arms, trying to calm its piercing screams. She gently rocked the infant in her arms, and it was actually working. The child’s screaming grew fainter, and his eyes began to slowly close again.
“Kola, c’mon. What the fuck you doing?” Candace exclaimed, rushing into the bedroom.
Kola turned with the baby in her arms, and Candace was taken aback.
“Yo, what the fuck, Kola!”
“Ssssshhh!” Kola whispered. She put her index finger against her lips.
The baby was soon asleep, and Kola gently put him back into the crib. She stared at the boy for a moment.
Candace rushed over and grabbed Kola by her arm, spinning her around. “C’mon!”
Both girls dashed out the room and ran out the apartment, leaving Cynthia unconscious on the living room floor.
Hearing the commotion, a few neighbors began to
step out their apartments, but the girls were already retreating down the concrete stairway and running out the building.
They jumped into the truck, and Candace sped away while Kola was in a daze, slumped in her seat. She stared out the window of the car as it moved hastily on Myrtle Avenue. When Candace came to a stop at a red light, Kola couldn’t hold the hurt in any longer. She burst into tears with the realization that everything Edge had told her was the truth. She was so naïve to think she was the only woman in Cross’ life.
“Yo, don’t even worry about that, Kola, ’cause you still gonna get yours,” Candace said, trying to comfort her friend.
Still, Kola’s tears continued to trickle. She felt exposed. She hadn’t cried like that since her little sister’s murder. It was a feeling she tried to control, but it came out on its own.
Candace steered the Trailblazer across the Brooklyn Bridge as she raced back to Harlem.
Kola felt betrayed. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Love don’t live here anymore, she thought.
***
Kola didn’t go home. She got a room at a five-star hotel in the city. Her phone had been ringing nonstop; it was Cross calling. She knew he had gotten the word about the incident, but she didn’t feel like talking. She felt like a fool.
As she spent time alone in the elegant hotel room, a sinful smile crept across her face. She had the upper hand. She had the connect—Eduardo. He was only dealing with her and not her man. She thought about the night she turned down his sexual advances. Was it a mistake? she asked herself.
Things were changing in her crew—the loyalty was crumbling. The empire she dreamed about having with her man was becoming a lie for her. Edge was a snake and a hater, and Cross was even worse, she felt. He was a cheater and a backstabber. She gave him her love and trust, while he was wifing the next bitch. Kola now regretted having the abortion and not giving Cross the child he wanted.
Kola’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw a New Jersey number. She had an idea who it was. Eduardo. It was time for her to re-up, but she had missed the day to meet with him. Kola figured Eduardo must be concerned about her.
Kola’s heart was too troubled at the moment for business to be on her mind. She sat on the bed and stared at the number that had called previously. She had choices to make. She could easily fuck Eduardo and solidify her position with him in the drug world. But she didn’t want to become just another one of his mistresses. She wanted to be a queen.
And while she loved Cross with all her heart, he was becoming a different man, almost careless and indecisive about things. He had a snake in his camp that he failed to pick up on his radar, and then with the pending gun charges, she didn’t know if he would see the light of day anytime soon.
She got up and got dressed. She had made her choice.
Chapter 24
Apple woke up startled and frightened from her uncomfortable sleep in her car. Sweaty, she looked out the window frantically. She couldn’t shake that odd feeling that someone was watching her up close—stalking her—but she didn’t see anyone lurking around. She had been having the same feeling for several days now. She had made plenty of enemies in the past year, so it was a long list to choose from.
One name was constantly popping into her head—Guy Tony. He was still out there and hadn’t been seen or heard from in months. He was still a dangerous man, and he had a crucial grudge against Apple that made her feel the need to look over her shoulder wherever she went.
Apple was parked on a shaded tree-lined block a few miles south from the Tappan Zee Bridge in White Plains, New York. The sun was just rising, and the morning air was fresh, but Apple felt the total opposite. She felt sick. Her stomach was upset and churning. Her eyes were red and sunken in from the lack of sleep that she was getting. Her body felt frail, and she was constantly tired from not eating enough. She could barely move from out the car.
Apple straightened herself out and sluggishly stepped out her McLaren to stretch her legs. She looked around at the few cars on the block where she had parked. It had been two days since she was evicted from her home, and with nowhere to go and having less than fifty dollars to her name, each passing day was critical and hard.
She was washing up in public places, using the facilities at rest stop bathrooms, fast food restaurants, chain stores, and other public places to clean her face, wash her clothes in the sink, and brush her teeth. She would try to do these things early in the morning or late at night when there was less of a crowd to stare at her like she’d stepped off the freak bus, and to avoid some of the kids making fun of her or becoming frightened by the simple sight of her.
“Mommy, what happened to her face?” a four-year-old had asked his mother, pointing at Apple as she exited a public restroom early one morning.
Apple turned her head in embarrassment and rushed out the store, once again trying to hold back her tears.
Sometimes, Apple would sit in her car for hours clutching her pistol, wanting to commit suicide. But she always hesitated in doing the fatal action, thinking about her sister. Kola couldn’t win. She wouldn’t dare give her twin sister the satisfaction of killing herself, knowing she would spit on her grave and laugh. Besides, she had a score to settle. No matter how tempting it seemed and how rough it was getting for her, Apple’s pride wouldn’t allow her to take it that far. Still, every day it was one thing or the other.
She was constantly calling Chico and begging him to get her out of the situation she was in. Chico would assure her that things would get better and told her that he would be in New York within the week. Apple felt she wouldn’t last that long. He had promised to send her some money via Western Union, and when the money came, it gave her little comfort. But she was able to afford to stay in a motel for the week.
Apple checked into a seedy, dilapidated motel in the outskirts of Hackensack, New Jersey, a popular hangout spot for punks, penny-pinchers, and pimps. It was such a step down from where Apple was staying before. The dirty room reminded her of the home in Harlem she once shared with her sisters and mother.
A sullen cashier behind bulletproof glass in the vestibule turned over the key to Apple in exchange for cash, no questions asked. Apple walked into the 10’x10’ room that was dimly lit by a single bulb in the ceiling fixture, and smelling heavily of sweat. A small mattress rested on a chipped particle board bed frame. The blanket was stained, the bedspread torn, and the filthy brown carpet on the floor was littered with cigarette burns. There was an old television set with a broken antenna and a non-working remote, and the windows were so dirty, they blocked out the midday sun.
Apple sighed heavily while staring at the two towels on a small dresser. Her temporary home for a week was an ugly, destitute place, and with her McLaren parked right outside underneath the room’s window, she felt an uneasiness inside of her that traveled to the bottom of her feet.
She walked farther into the room and twisted her face. “Hurry up, Chico,” she said under her breath.
Apple was a little nervous about going out into the streets, but she was from the hood, and with her scarred face, it made her blend right in with the undesirables that frequented the seedy motel, although her car was a magnet for attention.
She still couldn’t shake the feeling of somebody watching her. Therefore, she stayed in the room and only came out when she needed food. She could only afford to buy a few things to hold her over, though, like potato chips, cookies, cakes, juices, and cups of noodles.
***
Two days went by slowly for Apple. Time for her felt like it had stood still. The TV and a newspaper became her only source of entertainment, and her mind was heavily on Chico. The nights were lonely like a castaway’s stranded at sea, and her days were long and drawn out with nothing much to do. Apple barely got any sleep, and when she did, it was only in intervals.
As day number three in the motel slowly approached, Apple woke up from her sleep in a chilling sweat. She was having the same recurring nigh
tmare—there was an entity chasing her and slowly tearing her apart. It was wicked, and it was fast. Apple could feel her flesh being torn from her, and her burns coming alive on her face—taunting her, digging into her skin and spreading. She was becoming uglier and uglier, and she couldn’t stop it. Whenever she felt overwhelmed by the entity engulfing her, she would jump up from her sleep screaming, only to see it was just a nightmare. But she would be shaking and looking around the room with paranoia.
“It’s a dream. It’s only a dream,” Apple told herself, trying to find some reassurance and calm her breathing.
She needed someone to hold onto, but Chico wasn’t there.
It was one in the morning, and the room felt too still. It was dark. The television was off. She could hear a few pimps chatting outside her window. They lingered around in and outside of the motel while their hoes worked the track until sunup.
Apple then had a sudden urge to go to the window and look out. She had a bad feeling about something. She drew back the blinds and peered outside. That’s when she noticed an empty parking space where her car was once parked was. Her eyes grew big with the realization that her car was gone. It was stolen.
“No, they didn’t!” she screamed out.
She hurried to put some clothes on, rushed out of the lobby, and ran to where she had last parked the McLaren. She was hysterical. Her head was spinning in every direction, hoping to get a glimpse of the car somewhere, but the only thing around her were barren streets and working girls.
One of the young pimps sauntered up to Apple. He was clad in sagging blue jeans and an Atlanta Falcons throwback jersey, his braids showing underneath the baseball cap he wore backward. He looked only a few years older than Apple.
Smoking a cigarette, he looked at Apple for a moment. “Yo, shortie, that was ya car, right?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“That shit got towed like an hour ago, shortie. I think it was the repo man or somethin’. Shit, it was either that, or them stickup boys were gonna snatch that shit from you eventually.”
Apple stood there looking despondent.
Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick Page 20
