“I’ll see all y’all asses in hell!” Tombstone gives no fucks. With a smile, he lifts his weapon.
Every cop surrounding him fires.
“Noooo!” I shout, lowering the megaphone. But there’s nothing that I can do other than watch the young thug as he’s swept up and back a good three feet before collapsing to the ground, his blood painting the street.
So much for getting a win tonight.
“Holy shit. Did y’all just see that?” someone to my right yells. I glance at the growing anger on everyone’s face. “Oh shit.” This may be a problem.
“Muthafuckas shot that nigga cold.”
“Secure the area,” I order and then call in the shooting and request a body extraction.
To my left, I catch sight of another familiar face: Raymond aka Profit. He looks different. He’s hard. Distracted. Detached. Could he be one of the Club Diesel shooters?
Profit’s gaze cuts away from Tombstone’s body over to me. If looks could kill, the forensic team would be white-chalking my ass right next to Tombstone’s.
50
Nefertiti
Diesel takes a final look around at the damage to his club. The night’s shaken crowd is gone and the police are bullshitting in front of the news cameras.
I’m biting the shit out of my tongue in order to stop myself from singing I told you so at the top of my voice. By now, Diesel knows that he needs to get out of this raggedy-ass city. Ain’t shit popping but country niggas with poor eyesight tryna toe-tag everybody that looks at them wrong. It ain’t like Atlanta where brothahs boss up and show the fuck out. That’s where a chick like me makes serious gold coins sexing niggas with more cash than brains.
Diesel came up here to expand his empire, but it’s got to be painfully clear that his cousin Python played his ass for a fool. He got Diesel to pump money into his thinning crew, and then the moment his uncle Isaac springs out of jail, all deals are off.
“So what’s your next move?”
Diesel refuses to look at me when he responds. “Obviously somebody’s ass got to pay for this shit.”
I nod. “No doubt. But who? The Vice Lords think you had a hand in that massacre that your uncle launched, and this is payback. So do you go after them or do you go after your uncle?”
He stops and looks at me. “Both.”
Minutes later, we’re back in his ride and headed out to that creepy-ass warehouse in Frayser. I keep glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that we’re being watched, but also unable to prove it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Diesel asks after watching me twitching in my seat for twenty minutes.
“Nothing. I’m being cautious,” I tell him.
Diesel checks around and then asks his driver, Beast, “Are you spotting anyone following us?”
“No, boss.”
Diesel glances at me, but tells Beast, “Keep an eye out.”
“Yes, boss.”
Another ten minutes and we arrive at the dilapidated warehouse. The place is as creepy as it was the last time we were here. I’m all for fixer-uppers, but this is damn ridiculous.
Diesel hammers on the door three times before entering, then shouts, “Python! I know your ass is in here!”
There’s a long silence.
“Python!”
A rusty door creaks open from somewhere in this bitch before a steady thump of heavy, booted feet pounds the cement floor. When Python materializes at a railing on the floor above us, I have to say the muthafucka looks awful. He doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink since his burnt-up wife was reported dead on the news.
“Why the fuck are you making so much noise?” he thunders.
“We need to talk,” Diesel says, cutting to the chase.
“About what?”
“What the fuck you think? Those Vice Lord muthafuckas shot up my club in retaliation for shit that you and your damn uncle did behind my back!”
“Behind your back?” Python thunders. “Since when the fuck do we have to clear our business with you?”
“Since you dragged my ass into your business. Let’s not get amnesia and shit. It’s my money and my supply that is still keeping your asses afloat. All this reneging shit you done ain’t flying with my ass no more. I help your ungrateful ass out and you can’t give me the proper respect of a damn heads-up?”
Python clamps his jaw tight. His ass is hot to death, and I don’t think that too many people talk to him like Diesel.
“I’m catching fallout over some shit that you and Isaac conspired on. One of you muthafuckas is going to have to pay up.”
Python rolls his eyes. “Cuz, get on with that, I got bigger problems to deal with right now.”
“Bigger problems? Nigga, do you know how much shit this is gonna cost me—on top of the fucking money that I already lost in propping up your bullshit crew?”
“Bullshit crew?” Python’s face twists up, making him uglier—if that’s possible.
“Yeah, muthafucka. You heard me. I don’t stutter and your ears don’t flap.” Diesel focuses his gaze like a laser on Python. “You played me from Jump Street, and now instead of letting me and my crew take over for the Folks Nation up here, like you promised, you’re handing the whole deal back over to your uncle.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. And he’s your uncle, too.”
“I don’t know that nigga and he don’t know me. But what I do know is that we had a deal.”
“We talked about my change in plans months ago, remember?”
“Yeah, but that didn’t include you making other fucking arrangements. Now we have ourselves a situation where I’m being dicked over. In case you haven’t heard, nobody dicks me over. Nobody.”
The men’s gazes lock.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Call it what you want, but you better get me my stacks. There ain’t going to be any more of my ass chalking shit up to the game. From now on, we’re strictly business. No more fucking family favors. No cash? No more bricks, weapons—nothing. Let’s see your King Isaac get your money up.”
“Yeah. We had another deal, too. The one where you promised me that you’d stay with Aunt Peaches until the cops came, but from what I hear, your ass was MIA when the cops arrived and pronounced her dead.”
“She died. I fail to see how my sticking around would’ve helped the situation.”
“You promised,” Python thundered.
“So sue me.” Diesel shrugs. “Maybe I should’ve let your ass hang around for the cops to lock up. Is that your fucking point?”
Python clamps his jaw.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Diesel turns but then stops when he realizes he’s not through. “Now back to my muthafuckin’ money. Either you or your precious uncle need to un-ass all the fuckin’ dollars that’s due to me. That includes the itemized bill I’m going to hand you for Club Diesel. Once you receive it, you got thirty days to get me my fuckin’ cash or we are going to have a serious fuckin’ problem.”
“Thirty days?”
“I’m still not stuttering,” he says. “Business is business.”
This shit is uncomfortable to watch.
When it’s clear that Python doesn’t have anything else to add, Diesel signals me to follow. But as we near the door, Diesel pulls up one more time.
“Oh, and by the way, my condolences on that LeShelle situation. According to the news, it sounds like someone really fucked her over. If you ask me, it probably had something to do with that Flower bitch she hired to cut your baby out of that high yellow bitch you were fucking around with.”
“What?”
“C’mon, cuz. You really didn’t put that shit together?” Diesel shakes his head as if disappointed in his cousin’s intellectual prowess. “Thirty days!”
We exit the warehouse, leaving Python looking like he’s stuck on stupid. As we settle into the car, I get that sense of being watched again. I glance around the car but fail to see anything.
“Well, that escalated quickly,” I say, breaking the ice.
Diesel grins. “You haven’t seen nothing yet.”
51
Cleo
My car doesn’t turn over. When I beg and promise my four-wheel baby that I’ll take him in for a tune-up on my next payday, the engine roars to life. I coast out to Diesel’s place, pulling my thoughts together on exactly what I’m going to say or do. I can’t come right out and accuse him of killing Kalief, can I? What are the chances of him copping to the truth? Zero. Then what?
My mind draws a blank. Halfway to Diesel’s crib, I ease my foot off the accelerator. The hardest part though is coming out of my feelings to reassess the situation. All the stories that I’ve heard about Diesel and how he runs shit down in the ATL flood my memory. Add to that my own questions about Diesel’s involvement with Momma Peaches’ murder and the shooting at her funeral, and suddenly I’m not sure what my storming over to his place to demand answers is going to accomplish.
I want to see whether he will lie to my face. Of course he’ll lie, I argue back.
Then what?
By the time I arrive at Diesel’s place I still haven’t come up with an answer on what I’m going to do. I just know that I have to do something. It’s only my second time to Diesel’s home. He’s setting himself apart from the other hood rich negroes in the city. His willingness to flaunt his money showcases that he has all the right people on payroll.
Who am I to go up against the Diesel machine?
I pull up behind a line of cars in the driveway and then shut off the engine. I can’t believe that I drove all the way over here only to have second thoughts about confronting the man. Yet, the thought of turning around and going home with my tail tucked between my legs doesn’t sit right with me either. I did nothing after Essence’s murder—even after I discovered who her real killer was. Am I about to do the same thing for Kalief’s killer?
I reach over to the glove compartment and pull out the. 38 that my grandma bought me for protection years ago. It’s probably best if I don’t think about what I’m about to do and let the situation develop on its own.
I climb out of the car, tuck my weapon into my jeans, and proceed toward the front door. A dog somewhere in the house barks its head off.
“STOP RIGHT THERE,” a voice commands from out of the darkness.
Stunned, I do exactly what I’m told.
“Put your hands up where I can see them,” the voice orders.
Again, I comply. My heart pounds wildly.
A man steps out of the darkness and I recognize him instantly: Bullet.
“What are you doing here, songbird?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Are you lost?”
“What? No. I . . .” I lower my hands.
“Ah. Ah. Ah. Keep them up,” he commands, stepping into my personal space.
Up they go. My second heart attack comes when Bullet pats me down.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” He removes my weapon and holds it up in front of me.
“What? You know a girl ain’t safe out here without her own personal protection.”
“Uh-huh.” He steps back but holds on to my weapon. “And you’re here because of what?”
“I came to talk to Diesel.”
“He’s not there. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Where is he?”
“None of your business.” He gestures toward my car. “Go home. I’ll tell Diesel that you stopped by.”
The look on his face and his body language tell me that this is the end of the discussion. It’s just as well. I can’t think of anything that I can say that’s going to get me into that house. “Well, can I get my gun back?”
He stares at me for a long moment and then finally hands over my weapon. “You stay safe now.”
I pluck the weapon from his fingertips and then turn and head back to my car. In my head I’m calling Bullet every muthafucka under the sky.
Headlights swing up the drive. I turn and see Diesel’s Mercedes roll up to the house. My anger returns in full force. I race toward the car before it stops.
Diesel climbs out from the backseat when Bullet wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back.
“Let me go!”
“What the hell is going on here?”
I put everything I have into stomping down with my stiletto heels onto Bullet’s foot.
“Ow!” He loosens his hold enough for me to break free and swing on Diesel. Unfortunately, Diesel ducks and catches my wrists. “What the fuck?”
“Let me go, you fuckin’ murderer. You killed him! I know you did.” I struggle to free my hands, but Diesel’s grip is like steel—so I kick and tear those knees and ankles up.
“Cleo! Stop it! Calm the fuck down!”
“Murderer!” Kick! Kick! Stomp!
“Cleo! Goddamn it, Cleo. Stop!” He struggles to keep hold until his hand slips on one of my wrists and I claw my nails down the right side of his face. His reaction is swift. He backhands my ass and stars explode behind my eyes. I fall, but Bullet catches me before I hit the ground.
“Damn, Diesel.” Titi climbs out of the car.
“Don’t start,” he barks. “You see her. She’s hysterical.”
I recover, bolt from Bullet, and land more blows. My violent squirming frustrates Diesel, but he doesn’t let me go.
“You need any help, boss?” Beast asks.
“Just get the fucking front door so we can get her into the house,” Diesel barks as Bullet plucks me off Diesel again.
“NO!” I’m not going in that house.
“Yes, boss.” Beast rushes off.
“Let me go! You murderer. I’ll kill you!”
Diesel’s laughter throws me for a loop as Bullet struggles to carry me across the threshold and into the house.
“All right. Calm down,” Diesel rumbles in a low, menacing voice. “Titi, make her a drink so she can calm her nerves and she can tell us who exactly it is she thinks I killed.”
Titi turns toward the bar.
“Don’t play me stupid.” I sneer. “You know good and damn well that you killed Kalief.” Saying his name again, I break down. It’s my fault that he’s dead. It’s my fault.
“Cleo, calm down,” Diesel insists. “I did not kill your damn boyfriend. Sorry to disappoint you, but Kalief is hardly worth the effort.”
The boredom in his voice sends doubt into my head. My wild wrestling with Bullet stops as I assess whether or not he’s telling the truth.
“Here, honey. Drink this.” Titi offers me a glass with brown liquor. I shake my head but she insists.
“You really need to drink this,” Titi presses.
I snatch the glass. Maybe I do need to calm down in order to get to the bottom of this. I take sip of the strong whiskey. It burns my throat. I place a hand against my chest and hope that the shit doesn’t put hair on my chest.
“Feel better?” Diesel asks, taking a drink from Titi and downing a healthy gulp.
I don’t respond.
“Start from the beginning and tell me what the hell all of this is about?”
The bastard looks sincere, fucking up my theory of what happened to Kalief.
“Well?” Diesel sets his glass down on the coffee table and leans back in his seat to give me his full attention. I glance over at Titi and she’s waiting for my story as well.
“Kalief is dead.”
Diesel and Titi glance at each other. “Yeah. We pieced that much together. Get to the part where you concluded that I had something to do with it.”
I shake my head, telling myself not to believe his lies. “I know about you,” I tell him. “I know that you had something to do with this. You thought by getting Kalief out of the way that somehow I was going to fall into your bed, but you’re mistaken. That shit will never happen.”
There’s a long silence before Diesel pushes up a smile.
“So now I kill useless niggas in order to get women to sleep with me? That’s
your theory? I mean, yeah. I’ve made it no secret about how I feel for you, but I was thinking more along the lines of wining and dining; maybe some jewelry, haute couture dresses—but murder?”
I shake my head. “Stop talking to me like I’m crazy.” I stand and get light-headed. “Whoa.” I plop back down onto the couch.
“What is it?” Titi asks from the bar, looking concerned.
“Nothing. I just . . . stood up too fast.”
“Or you’ve worked yourself up for no reason,” Diesel injects. “I hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t kill your boyfriend.”
“Kind of how . . . how you didn’t kill Momma Peaches, too?” I challenge recklessly. Why is my tongue so thick?
“What did you say?” Diesel’s amusement fades.
“I-I saw . . .” My head spins and then I struggle to remember what it was I was about to say.
“You saw what?” Diesel asks.
I look into his intense green eyes. “I saw you speed away from the church that morning. I know that you had something to do with her death.”
He doesn’t answer. The room swims around me.
“Cleo, are you all right?” Titi asks, coming toward me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I . . .” I attempt to stand—at least I think I do. “Whoa. It’s hot in here.” I tug at my top and then hand-fan myself. “Don’t you have air-conditioning? Why is it so hot in here?”
Diesel stares.
I look to Titi. “Aren’t you hot?”
She shakes her head.
“Then I guess it’s just . . .” My gaze falls onto my drink. Something’s wrong. Before I can figure out what, I close my eyes and can’t open them again.
52
Nefertiti
“Thank God she finally shut up.” I pick up one of Cleo’s limp arms and then allow it to plop back down.
“How much did you give her?” Diesel asks, standing.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Enough to shut her up.” I take a look at his face and wince. “Damn, D. You’re really losing your touch with the ladies.”
Diesel shrugs off my touch only to stare longingly at his precious songbird. “I just wanted you to give her enough to relax her—not knock her out.”
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