La Familia 2

by Paradise Gomez

  “I don’t give a fuck!” he shouted.

  “Well, you better,” Kawanda warned him.

  “Fuck you too, bitch!” he screamed heatedly.

  I was ready to smash a bottle over his head. The problem was, Kawanda and I were the only girls who weren’t from Brooklyn. We came from the BX, and these bitches already hated on me and my girl because we stood out. I was ready to fight though, not giving a fuck. I hated when someone disrespected me for any reason at all. And Fats Money, he was the rudest and foulest nigga I ever met.

  I felt everyone glaring at me. Fats Money was big time in the Ville. He was an upcoming rapper with a violent street reputation. He was get a money nigga and didn’t have any shame on putting his hands on a female. Kawanda and myself, I felt we were outnumbered and predicted coming here was going to be a mistake.

  Fats Money continued being belligerent toward us at the bar, but then I heard someone say, “Yo, Fats, you need to chill the fuck out, fo’ real, my nigga. Them girls ain’t do shit to you.”

  Fats turned his aggressive attention to the voice commanding him to be easy and when he saw who it was, his whole demeanor changed. “Yo, fo’ real,” Fats started, but the man approaching us looked at him like he was food to eat.

  “You already know, Fats, calm the fuck down. I don’t wanna embarrass you at your own bachelor party.”

  Fats didn’t respond. He stood quietly, easily being punked by this towering man who walked with a tiger’s stride in the room and his persona manifesting respect and authority. He shut down the problem before it escalated.

  “Go fuck with somebody else, Fats, not these two ladies,” the man said.

  Fats scowled, but he didn’t respond. It was obvious who the real boss nigga was at the party. Fats and his friend walked away, defeated and embarrassed. I was thankful. I gazed at my peacemaker and had seen him before. He was a large man, well over six feet tall and probably over 300 pounds, but neat and well put-together for his size. There was an air of power about him with his ink-black eyes, glistening bald head, and thick goatee.

  I noticed the tattoo inked on his neck: YGC. Young Gangster Crew. I immediately assumed he was from Edenwald and a gangster. They all were. Why was he in Brooklyn, I had no idea. But it seemed he had clout there.

  “He more bark than bite,” he said to me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “They call me Power,” he introduced himself, with a friendly handshake. “I be seeing you at Crazy Legs. You’re a beautiful woman and a great dancer.”

  “Thank you,” I replied dryly.

  He saved me from a whirlwind of trouble, but I wasn’t interested in him. The way he looked at me told me he was very interested in me; not to be conceited, but everyone was. He was trying to make conversation, but I was ready to leave. I didn’t care if I had to leave alone. It was just too much going on around me.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good. I’m ’bout to leave anyway.”

  He lit a cigarette and replied, “Yeah, I understand, I don’t fuck with the Ville like that either. It’s just business out here for me.”

  He blew smoke out his mouth, looked at me, threw up his left hand with his middle finger crossed over his ring finger, indicating an X, and said, “I’m BX for life.”

  I smiled, but it was more forced. “It ain’t nothin’ like the Bronx,” I said, just to be nice.

  “Word up, fuck these Brooklyn niggas,” Power said recklessly around Brooklyn niggas. Nobody said a word; not a soul rebuked his rude comment. It indicated how heavy his status was.

  I looked around for Kawanda. I was leaving. Power was cool, or seemed cool, but he wasn’t my type and I was done dating gangsters. Rico was the Antichrist who ruined it for everyone.

  “Listen, it was nice talkin’ to you, but I gotta go,” I said.

  “It’s cool, I’ll see you around,’ he replied.

  Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t, and I didn’t care. Power let me walk away without any hassle or trying to get my number. I respected that. He was the classiest nigga in the place, if I said so. I went looking for Kawanda and when I couldn’t find her, I figured she was doing VIP or was in the changing/storage room switching up outfits or counting her money. When I didn’t see her in the changing room, I immediately knew where she was at. That bitch probably sucked and fucked more niggas than Heather Hunter.

  I quickly got dressed and dialed a cab from my cell phone. The way these bitches were glaring at me in the room, I knew I wasn’t wanted there. Every bitch was a Brooklyn bitch, and the fact that I was pretty they hated me like I was some Nazi German.

  Clad in my jeans, sweater, winter coat, and winter boots, and rolling my small suitcase, I hurried through the growing crowd and rowdy-ass niggas toward the exit. I noticed Power eyeing me from the bar. He smiled, I didn’t smile back. I exited the building without even telling Kawanda I was gone. She was taking too long in VIP for me. I already had the cab idling outside. I decided to call her cell phone and leave a message, or somebody would tell her that I left.

  I climbed into the back seat and told the driver I was heading to the Bronx. He looked skeptical driving that far at this late in the night. He charged me extra: sixty-five dollars. I had no choice. That fee came out of the $200 I made that night. Pissed wasn’t even the word I felt. I wasn’t fuckin’ with Kawanda or Brooklyn anymore. The night was a complete bust.

  The duration of the ride to the Bronx, I pouted and thought about another source of employment because this couldn’t be it for me. I refused to keep living like this.

  “Open number two,” the guard shouted.

  The thick gray door opened up in front of me and I stepped into the visiting room of Attica prison, walking single file behind so many other women who were there to see a loved one. The spacious gym that had been turned into an inmate visiting area was teeming with inmates enjoying their family: girlfriends, husbands, brothers, and sons, and so on. I gave the female guard my ticket and she pointed to my assigned seat, farther in the back. I walked toward the seating area feeling the eyes on me. I came alone, choosing to leave Danny with my neighbor. It was a constant headache bringing a seven-month-old baby with me.

  I was dressed simple in some stylish blue jeans, white sneakers, and a black gathered bust flutter top, which I must admit, did draw attention to my tits a little more. I didn’t come to look cute for Rico; I just liked to look cute wherever I went.

  I sat in the chair and waited. I wanted to be home with my son, but Rico called me collect the other day and said he needed me to come visit him. It was an emergency. Reluctantly, I was here once more. The chatter in the room wasn’t noisy, but it was tiresome to hear, especially when you’re alone and waiting. I noticed the fleeting looks my way, some from inmates already seated with their girlfriends and some came from other visitors. I caught even a few male guards staring my way. I ignored the attention and looked at the floor.

  Rico and four other inmates were escorted into the room by a single guard. Rico was the first to walk in, leading the pack like he always did. I stared at him. His stature was still demanding even while incarcerated. His eyes scanned the room in search of me. He soon found me and smiled. I exhaled noisily and rolled my eyes. He came marching my way with this confident stride, and as handsome as he was, he was the ugliest person in the room.

  “You look good, baby,” he greeted me, with open arms and a grin.

  “Thanks,” I dryly responded, still seated.

  “What, I can’t get a hug and kiss?”

  “It ain’t like that wit’ us,” I frankly told him.

  “Then make it like that wit’ us,” he said seriously.

  I stared at him, knowing he was trying to make an impression in front of his fellow inmates. He couldn’t be seen being disrespected and dissed by a beautiful woman like me—his woman. I stood up and halfheartedly hugged him and then gave him a quick peck on the lips. Rico looked for more, but there wasn’t any mo
re coming from me. We took our seat next to each other and I crossed my legs opposite his way.

  “How you been and where’s my son?” he asked.

  “I didn’t bring him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t. It ain’t like you be playing wit’ him or paying him any attention while he here like that,” I said.

  “Sammy, why you be trippin’?”

  “’Cause you make me trip,” I spat.

  “Listen, I ain’t got time to argue wit’ you,” he said.

  “Puede ser un idiota,” I cursed in Spanish.

  “You better watch ya mouth,” he uttered.

  I waved him off.

  “Anyway, you thought about my proposal?” he asked.

  “Rico, I’m not marrying you.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Seriously, you think I wanna marry you, after everything you put me through and you being in here for how long? Debes estar loco.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” he warned.

  “You know what, you can threaten me all you want, and if you’re that cold to have the mother of your son locked up, then go to hell,” I told him angrily.

  “We can talk ’bout that some other time, but I want you to become my wife.”

  The muthafucka was impossible to talk to and reason with. It was like trying to squeeze water from a rock. I sat there with him and listened though. He asked me a few questions, about Edenwald and Danny. I told him what was going on in the Bronx. Then he asked me about Mouse.

  “You seen or talk to her lately?”

  I was dumbfounded. He knew Mouse and I didn’t talk to each other at all. I had no idea what was going on with her. He ruined that relationship between us. He tore our friendship apart. He instigated shit and looked proud at his work.

  “You know I don’t talk to her,” I said.

  “I been tryin’ to reach her, but she ain’t nowhere to be found,” he told me.

  I sat there deadpan, not caring what he had to say about Mouse.

  “I want her to come visit me. I wanna see my daughter,” he had the nerve to say.

  I chuckled lightly at his twisted reasoning of having Mouse come to visit. I guessed he wanted to control her like he was trying to do me. But Mouse, even though we weren’t speaking, I give it to her, she completely cut Rico out of her life: no letters, no phone calls, and not any pictures of his daughter, nothing. He had no clue where she was. I only wished I had that same luxury she had.

  “Don’t talk to me ’bout Mouse,” I rebuked him.

  “You need to see what’s up wit’ her fo’ me,” he had the audacity to say.

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I said through clenched teeth. “You must have lost ya damn mind.”

  “I didn’t lose anything.”

  He could have fooled me. He sat there, stern face aimed at me. I was silent. He added, “I just need to talk to her.”

  “And I’m the messenger,” I replied.

  “If you see her around, tell her I want to see her.”

  I wasn’t telling her shit and I wasn’t trying to look for her either. But I didn’t tell Rico that. I straightforwardly replied, “Whatever.”

  Rico continued talking and I was barely listening. I thought about the hourly trip I had to take back to New York by bus. It sucked not having a car. It sucked to visit a man you despised, but he had this black cloud lingering over my head that I was almost like a puppet on a string.

  As the visit moved forward, Rico leaned closer to me and said in a low tone, “Look, I’m gonna need you to do me a favor in a few weeks.”

  I frowned at doing him any favors. Doing favors for Rico was risky and I knew what he was about to ask me wouldn’t be any different. I didn’t reply. He continued running his mouth. “I’m gonna need you to sneak some stuff inside for me.”

  The look I gave him, he already knew my answer.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

  “You must be stupid,” I spat through gritted teeth.

  “Listen, the show don’t stop wit’ me being locked up in here, entender,” he said. “I got a connect outside who needs to bring a small package inside. I thought about you.”

  “I’m glad to be ya first choice,” I replied sarcastically.

  “Don’t get fuckin’ smart.”

  I wanted to smack him. But there was no way I was going to risk my freedom by helping Rico sneak in drugs, I assumed. But he didn’t care; he was a self-centered prick who thought about himself.

  “I’ll talk to you ’bout the details later,” he said.

  I didn’t say yes, but he was already scheming and involving me.

  The visit was finally over and I couldn’t wait to leave his side and head back home. He wanted a hug and kiss before my departure, but I refused to show him any affection that I didn’t have for him. I walked away without a good-bye and left him there in awe. The farther I got away from him, the better.

  I had to do something about Rico, because if I didn’t, he was gonna be like herpes: no matter how many times you treated it, it was always gonna come back.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mouse

  It was a warmer night than usual with remnants of the last snowfall on the ground melting every day. Hunts Point was quiet tonight, traffic was light, and clientele felt like it was drying up. I strutted up and down Oak Point Avenue watching and waving at every passing car, but they weren’t stopping. Erica was on one side of the street and me on the other. Tonight, I decided to look cute since it was fifty degrees and mild. I had on a pair of black pumps, tight jeans that accentuated my curves, and a leather jacket, with my sensuous long hair falling down to my back. I smoked a cigarette and couldn’t believe I was still out here. I wasn’t trying to get used to sucking dick and fucking strangers, but it became a job.

  I turned the corner and started to walk down Longfellow Avenue, near the small park. It was dark and I was bored. My last date was an hour ago, and he only wanted a blowjob. I sucked his dick so good, I made that white boy’s forehead cave in and had him coming like a geyser in the condom. He was nice, came fast, and his dick was average. I still hated turning these tricks, but I found a way to cope with it. I would close my eyes and think about something else pleasing, like playing with my daughter and finally doing for her, or recite a rhyme or poem in my head, maybe think about a future with prosperity, a loving man, living in the suburbs, something to make me forget that my face was in a nigga’s lap with his dick down my throat or spread out in the car with stranger’s dick inside of me.

  I walked down Longfellow Avenue and the second I hit the corner, I noticed a red Honda Accord hastily pull up next to me with the windows rolling down and hearing rap music blaring. Instantly, I got nervous and was ready to flee. Stick-up kids, I thought, or was it the police? I couldn’t outrun anyone in these heels and felt I should have worn my boots or sneakers. I stood there feeling my heart pound rapidly inside my chest and my eyes stuck on the car.

  “Diamond,” I heard him call out.

  Fixated on the passenger door opening, I took a few steps back. If it was any danger, I had two choices: either fight or flee. I quickly removed a sharp razor from my pocket and held it in my hand. I was ready to protect myself and give whoever it was a very rude awakening.

  But then I felt a little relief when I saw it was Tango climbing out of the car. He was all smiles, very excited to see me. “Diamond, I been lookin’ fo’ you,” he said lively.

  He had me nervous at first, but I never saw anyone so happy to see me. I mean, the look on his face looked like he had just won the lotto or something. It was all because of me. He approached and said, “I wanna date.”

  I looked inside the idling car and he didn’t come alone. The driver behind the wheel was watching me too, and creeping me the fuck out. “I don’t do doubles,” I told him.

  “Don’t worry ’bout my man, he ain’t gonna fuck wit’ you. He just my ride out here, that’s all,” said Tang
o.

  I was still worried. I didn’t know him like that either. “Still, I feel uncomfortable getting in the car with two men,” I let it be known.

  “A’ight, I got you, beautiful,” he said. “I’ma take care of it.”

  Hearing him always call me beautiful, it made me smile inside and blush. The way Tango looked at me, like I was more of a queen than some whore working the blocks at Hunts Point, it was the way every woman wanted to be looked at. His eyes spoke volumes toward me.

  I watched Tango walk back to the car and climb inside. He started saying something to the driver. The driver glanced back at me and then turned his attention back to Tango. A few more words were said, and next thing I knew, they were both climbing out of the car. Tango waved me over. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  I was confused.

  “He gonna chill out here fo’ a minute, while we do our thang,” said Tango.

  I walked toward the Accord skeptically. The driver seemed aloof about the whole thing. He stood on the sidewalk while Tango got behind the wheel and had me get in on the passenger side. I looked back at the male; he was average height with dreads and black as coal.

  “You sure he’s cool ’bout waiting out here? I mean, this is Hunts Point and it ain’t that warm,” I said.

  “Yo, you ain’t gotta worry ’bout my nigga; he ain’t worried ‘bout nuthin’ out here. He a ’bout it nigga fo’ real and he can handle his own. Besides, he owes me,” Tango said.

  I shrugged.

  Tango put the car in drive and we slowly drove away. I sat back and for some strange reason, it felt good seeing him again. It had been a couple of days since our last sexual encounter and I would be lying if I didn’t say he came into my mind since then.

  “I miss you,” Tango said to me.

  “You do?”

  “Hells yeah, since you left, I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout you every day.”

  “You lying.”

  “Nah, I’m serious. Yo, just being next to you right now got a nigga feeling all jolly and shit.”

  I chuckled.

  “And you lookin’ so fuckin’ sexy, beautiful. When you gonna marry me?” he asked as a joke.