by K'wan
“Yeah, I know it,” Bone said coolly. “But I got my own thing going uptown. Fuck makes you think I give a shit what goes on in the rest of the City?”
“Because I know you ain’t no shit-for-brains corner boy. You’re a leader, much like myself. We see things on a grander spectrum than most people. That's how I figured you’d see the beauty of my deal.”
“I can’t promise you anything,” Bone admitted. “But I’ll hear you out, Mike.”
“Fair enough. I’m sure it's no secret that there's tension between the Clarks and my crew. We’ve been having sort of a difference of opinion. Alas,” Mike said, shrugging, “I think our business will soon be concluded.”
“What's that got to do with me?” Bone asked, trying to hide the greed in his voice.
“I know we’ve only been doing business for a short time, but I know who you are, Bone—Poppa's fallen angel. That was a shit deal you got, man. Sure, you got a little light fingered, but that's only because they weren’t giving you the proper respect. You should’ve been promoted along with the other lieutenants. It stinks to get passed over.”
Mike paused to study the effects of his words on Bone. He could see frustration etched all over the man's face as he relived the humiliation in his mind. Mike knew he had him. Bone already had a grudge against Tommy. All it would take was a few well-placed words to push him in the right direction.
“Stinks like hell,” Mike continued. “Guess there's not a lot of loyalty amongst thieves?”
“Okay,” Bone said, frustrated. “You know your history, so what?”
“I’m getting to that. Bone, let's call a spade a spade, no offense. Things are changing on the streets. New rules call for new blood. Tommy and me did some pretty big things, but he's getting too bigfor himself. He doesn’t understand business. If somebody puts you on top, you don’t repay them by spitting in their face. His fifteen minutes of fame are over.”
“What are you saying to me, Mike?” Bone asked, knowing full well what Alike meant.
“Bone,” Mike said seriously, “I think you know what I mean. I’m offering you Poppa's operation. You’ll be the head nigg—I mean the guy in charge. Not only that, but you’ll have my full support. No strings.”
Bone fought back the smile that was trying to spread across his lips. He was finally going to get a shot at greatness. With the Italians behind him, his crew would soon be able to rival any on the streets.
“Okay,” Ahmad cut in unexpectedly, “the deal sounds sweet enough, but what's the catch? You claim to be able to help us take the streets, what do you get out of all this, Mike, and what price do you ask of us?”
Mike looked to Bone, to see if he should answer to his henchman. Bone nodded and Mike continued with his speech.
“Simple enough, gentlemen. 1 get to keep moving my work and we’re both rid of a common pain in the ass. What could be sweeter than that?”
Bone waved Ahmad silent before he could say anything else. Bone saw a golden opportunity being laid at his feet. He would be able to repay Tommy for his slight and take over the empire. Killing Poppa would be hard, but not impossible. As he thought about it, he knew just who to call in for support. It would involve some risk and a few lives to be sacrificed. But it was a small price to pay for a chance at revenge.
“Okay,” Bone continued, “say we accept your terms. Killing Poppa isn’t gonna be easy. He's got a strong crew behind him and Tommy isn’t gonna lay down for it.”
“Now you’re catching on,” Mike responded wickedly. “Tommy is powerful, but only because Poppa made it that way. If we cut out the foundation, the house of Clark will fall.”
“So you mean …”
“Indeed I do,” Mike assured him. “Sit with me for a while and let's discuss our future.”
Gator paused in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit lounge. He stepped into the tiny place and immediately gagged from the stench of someone smoking a dipped cigarette. Gator knew a few cats who smoked sherm in Florida and Cali, but he didn’t know that the habit had made its way to New York.
He held his breath as he moved through the light crowd to the bar area. Sitting at the end of the bar was a cat matching the description that Shane had given him. Frost was a little bastard who wore a lot of ten-carat jewels. Gator examined the jewelry from a distance and reasoned that it would be a waste of time to rob him.
Gator sat a few stools down from the little man and ordered a Corona. He sipped the beer slowly, keeping his eye on Frost. The little man seemed to be tipsy as he flirted with some girls who were way too young to be in a bar. He still wasn’t sure that it was him until one of the girls called his name.
“That's right, baby,” Frost slurred. “I put the ‘g’ in gangsta. Frost is that nigga.”
The girls giggled and hung on Frost's every word. As long as he was buying drinks, they would laugh at him and boost his ego. Gator, on the other hand, was trying to figure if he should kill Frost inside the bar or try and get him outside. Gator's gold choppers ground together as he began to formulate a plan in his head.
“Did you say Frost?” Gator asked, loud enough for his target to hear him.
“Who the fuck is that?” Frost squinted.
“It's me,” Gator said moving closer. “I know I ain’t put on that much weight?”
“I don’t know you, man.”
“Frost, you really gonna act like you don’t know ya boy?” Gator inched closer.
“I said I don’t know you.”
“It's Ty,” Gator lied. “Remember? We used to work for Tommy Clark together.”
Frost relaxed a little at the mention of a familiar name. He didn’t really recognize the man with the cornrows, but he had worked with so many different people during his run with Tommy that it was hard to remember them all. Frost figured that Gator was just another dick-riding nigga that heard he was getting it and wanted to be down. He decided that he would humor him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Frost sneered. “That was so long ago I almost forgot. What you up to, nigga?”
“Nothing much. Just got out of lockup.”
“Shit, what you go down for?” Frost asked.
“Fucking drug charge,” Gator lied. “Them niggaz had me down for a minute. Hard time, smell me? And I was fucked up.”
“TC ain’t hold you down?”
“Hell, nah,” Gator barked. “Niggaz left me to rot.”
“That's some cold shit,” Frost frowned. “Coward-ass Clark niggaz.”
“Yeah, but he did give me something when I touched down,” Gator said as he got within spitting distance of Frost.
“What did he give you?” Frost asked, actually interested.
“A message.” Gator smiled. Frost's eyes widened as he found himself looking at two rows of jagged gold teeth. “We know what you’ve been up to, Frost.”
Frost smiled weakly at the big man. He could’ve shot himself for letting a stranger get that close up on him. He got caught slipping, but he wouldn’t be undone that easily. “Oh, yeah?” He smiled. “Tell him that I said, ‘Suck my dick!’“ With a fake and a swing, a beer bottle shattered against Gator's head. When he staggered back clutching the gash in his head, Frost darted for the door.
Angelo was making his way to the bar entrance, followed by Fritz and Shane. Before he could reach for the door, Frost came running out. He brushed past a surprised Angelo and ran straight into Fritz's fist. Frost staggered backward and collapsed to the ground. Angelo bent down and yanked the little man up by his collar. Frostwas dazed but well aware of what was about to happen to him. He would learn that his actions came with a hard price.
Gator came rushing out of the bar shortly after. He had a crazed look in his eyes as blood dripped from his head down the side of his face. He looked around until he found his target. With a snarl he drew his gun and approached Frost.
“Sneaky mutha fucka,” Gator hissed. “Suck ya dick? Nah, why don’t you suck on this!”
Before anyone could
react, Gator leveled his .45 and dumped twice into Frost's face. Blood splattered on Angelo as part of Frost's jaw and skull came away. The body hit the ground twitching, but Gator wasn’t finished. He stepped over the mutilated body and fired three more shots into Frost. The body had ceased its twitching.
Angelo nodded to his peoples and they made haste back to the car. Gator followed slowly behind the trio, touching his wound. He took one more look at Frost and shot him in the face before sprinting to catch the others.
A few hours after the Frost murder, Shai found himself in the Bronx, trying to find something to get into. After going through the motions with Tommy all day, Shai's nerves were shot. Things on the streets were beginning to heat up and lines were being drawn in the sand. Shai had a bad feeling about what was about to go down, but no one would listen to him. Poppa was too concerned with retirement, and Tommy was too busy treating him like a kid. Nobody seemed to be getting the bigger picture.
In an attempt to take his mind off things, Shai decided to hit the strip club. His entire day had consisted of hood shit. Guns and violence were the language of the streets. After all that Shai had seen and done throughout the last few days, he needed a change of scenery.
Swan was still MIA, so Shai found himself kicking it with his cousin Gator. When Poppa asked Shai to let Gator tag along, he naturally rebelled. He didn’t feel like babysitting his country-asscousin. He figured Gator would be loud and embarrassing, but he turned out to be real cool. Gator was country as hell, but he was gangsta with his. He didn’t pester Shai about what to do and what not to do. Gator was more down-to-earth than anyone else Shai hung with—with the exception of Swan—plus he was down to bust on a nigga without question.
“Shit, I ain’t seen you in years,” Shai said, lighting the freshly rolled blunt. “What you been up to, cousin?”
“Shit,” Gator said, in a Southern drawl, “I got in a little trouble back home. They had a nigga on the run, baby. Florida got too hot for the kid, so here I am in da Apple.”
“Fuck you do, kill somebody?” Shai joked.
“Yeah,” Gator said very seriously.
Shai shot Gator a look to see if he was playing, but there was no humor in his face. “Fuck happened to your head?” Shai asked, nodding at the bandage.
“Ah, this wasn’t ‘bout shit,” Gator said, touching the wound. “Fuck-nigga hit me wit’ a bottle earlier. He was loud talking ‘bout Poppa, so we had to push his shit back.”
“So, you’re working for Poppa too?”
“I don’t know what to call it.” Gator shrugged. “I’m just trying to live. It's a lot of money floating around in New York. I just wanna get me some of it. Know what I’m saying, cuz?”
“Yeah, I can dig it.”
“Say, cuz,” Gator changed the subject, “where we riding to? We been coasting through this mutha fucka for about an hour and ain’t got no destination.”
“Be cool, man,” Shai instructed, as he passed the blunt. He drove down a few more blocks, before finding the spot he was looking for.
It was a down-low spot not far from the Madison Avenue Bridge. The outside of the club wasn’t much to look at, but the interior was nice. The foyer was an oval-shaped portal with a room off to the left for checking coats. The inside of the hall was a wide open space, with five tiny stages for the strippers to do their thing. The bar was a large horseshoe with a DJ booth suspended above it.
“This spot is all right,” Gator said, looking around.
“Told you to be cool.” Shai smirked. “My man Snoop told me about this place.”
“Damn,” Gator said, eyeing a light-skinned girl that was strutting her stuff. “Be sure to tell that nigga thank you.”
Shai and Gator posted up by the bar and ordered some drinks. One after the other, girls came out and shook their moneymakers, while the men in the club tipped or gawked. Shai only half paid attention to the show. His mind was on the streets and what he could do to help ease the tension that Tommy was creating. A familiar form climbing onto the stage caught Shai's attention. He had to blink twice to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
Honey stood wide-legged on the stage, wearing a leather halter and garter belt. Her blond hair was covered by a red wig, giving her an exotic look. Her arms and legs sported body paint in tribal designs. Shai looked on in shock as Honey began to go into her routine.
She was amazing to watch on stage. She moved with the grace of a gazelle, but her eye held the fire of a lioness. Honey worked the pole and the crowd as the patrons looked on like deer caught in headlights. Shai could feel his anger beginning to mount as the patrons tipped Honey and touched her at the same time. She wasn’t Shai's girl, but he couldn’t help the way he was feeling. It was as if they were violating her in some way and he didn’t like it.
Honey got off the stage four minutes later, dripping with sweat. The light caught her damp skin, making her more beautiful than she already was. Shai watched furiously as a young cat whispered into her ear and Honey began leading him to the VIP section. He tried to remain calm, but the next thing he knew, his legs were carrying him in their direction.
“What up?” Shai called behind her.
“Shai?” Honey said, turning around, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Taking in the sights,” he said, glaring at the young cat icily. “I need to holia at you.”
“Holla on ya own time,” the young cat cut in. “She's busy right now.”
“I don’t think I was talking to you.” By now Gator had eased up behind the kid. “Mind ya business, money.”
“Fuck is you talking to, frail-ass nigga?”
“What!” Shai snarled.
At the same time the young cat moved, so did Gator. Holding his Corona bottle like a club, he swung around in an arc and smashed the young cat in the head. Glass and beer flew everywhere. The young cat wobbled and hit the floor. When the young cat's peoples moved to help, Gator spun and drew his pistol.
“Fuck is y’all niggaz trying to do?” Gator hissed. “Buck, nigga! I dare you!”
By now the other patrons of the bar had begun to scatter, no one wanting to catch a stray bullet. The bouncers moved in, but Gator had it for them too. When the first bouncer got close enough, Gator hit him with a chair. Seeing that the young men meant business, the other bouncers swarmed in, wielding bats and blackjacks. Gator stopped them all short, firing into the air. A miniature stampede broke out, giving Gator, Shai, and Honey an opportunity to escape.
Gator came out first, gun drawn and gold fangs bared. Shai followed, with Honey wrapped in his leather jacket. She protested a little, but allowed Shai to shove her into the backseat. The trio sped off into the night just as police were arriving on the scene.
For the next few minutes no one spoke. Gator sat in the passenger seat, gun in lap, staring out the window. Shai clutched the wheel, weaving in and out of the light traffic, looking in the rearview for signs of pursuit. Honey just sat in the back, still not believing what Shai had just pulled. Once Shai was sure that no one was pursuing them, he pulled over on a dark block. He put the car in park and hopped out.
“I need to talk to you,” Shai said, looking at Honey. She just sat there, unmoving. “I said, I need to talk to you,” he repeated. Still nothing. “Please.”
For the first time since leaving the club, Honey looked up at Shai. His face was still twisted into a mask of anger, but his eyes told a different story. They were sincere and concerned. She wanted to be mad at Shai. She wanted to flip on him and demand that he put her in a cab, but when she looked into those soft brown eyes, she couldn’t. Honey reluctantly got out of the car and allowed Shai to lead her around the corner.
“What's up with you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“What's up with me?” she shot back. “I should be asking what's up with you? That was some bullshit, Shai. You and your crazy-ass cousin coming up in my job wilding out.”
“Your job?” he asked in a disgusted tone.
“Ma, that ain’t no place of employment. It's a flesh factory.”
“Call it what you want to, but it pays my bills.”
“Baby girl, that ain’t no way to make a living. Showing all your goods to some thirsty-ass niggaz for a few singles. Come on, ma. That shit is degrading.”
“Don’t you come at me trying to pass judgment, Shai Clark,” she said with emphasis. “What I do ain’t no worse than what your family does. It's all in the name of a dollar.”
“Don’t bring my family into this, ‘cause that ain’t me.”
“Well, this is me, Shai. I’m just trying to make it like everybody else. You think it's easy for a woman to raise a kid by herself? Look around you, Shai!” Honey swept her arms around. “New York ain’t exactly the land of opportunity. Not everyone can be born into money. Some of us gotta get it how we get it.”
“And you gotta get it by prostituting yourself?”
“Hold the fuck on,” Honey said angrily. “First of fucking all, I ain’t no goddamn prostitute. I dance, Shai. And that's it. I’ve made some messed up decisions in my life, but that's not what I’m about. I would love for a good man to come along and wanna take care of me and Star, but this is the real world. I gotta feed me and mine.”
“You on some bullshit!”
“No, you on some bullshit, Shai. Matter of fact,” she said, turning to leave, “you ain’t my man, so I don’t have to listen to this shit. I’m out!”
“Hold on,” Shai said, grabbing her by the arm.
“Get off me!” she shouted, trying to pull away. Shai tightened his grip and pulled her closer. He and Honey were standing eye to eye. Anger was written all over her face, but Shai was turned on by it. She seemed so strong and defiant, a trait he wasn’t used to in a woman. The closeness of her body and her breath grazing his cheek caused Shai to get an erection. Simultaneously, they both leaned in and kissed.
The two combatants kissed each other deeply and passionately. Soon Shai had loosened the grip on her arm and began exploring her body with his hands. Honey's skin felt like rose petals to his touch. As he explored her body, she explored his. Her hand slid down his muscular chest and abs to his throbbing penis. Honey was pleased by what she felt. She worked Shai's manhood out of his zipper and began to massage it, firmly. When he was fully erect, she pulled her thong to the side and allowed him to enter her.
