by K'wan
“That’s what’s up, Eve. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, and it’s good to have you home. One.”
“One.”
Eve needed some income coming in and her girl Keisha came through. This was part of the reason that she loved her click. After being home for less than twenty-four hours, she had a lead. One hand washed the other and two hands picked a nigga bone clean.
During the ride back to Harlem, there was an uncomfortable silence. Sean sat in the backseat, clearly terrified, and Butter stared out the passenger window chain-smoking. Every now and again, he would turn around to look at Sean and chuckle softly. He seemed to be getting a kick out of the young man’s rattled nerves. Felon just watched it all from the driver’s seat. He wasn’t thrilled about how Butter had carried out the hit and, as soon as they deposited Sean in front of his building, he confronted Butter about it.
“Was that shit really necessary?” Felon asked, looking over at his partner.
“What you talking bout, fam?” Butter asked naively.
“Cut the shit, B. You know just what I’m talking about. I asked you not to involve that boy in the hit.”
“Fuck that shit.” Butter waved him off. “It’s good for the boy’s character.”
“Butter, how is traumatizing the lil nigga good for his character? Him and Spooky was peoples and you had him take part in your little execution. All you did was complicate the situation more than it had to be.”
“All I’m trying to do is look out for our team, yo,” Butter said seriously. “There can be no weak links in this chain. The stronger we are, the longer we can play this game. You know how the shit goes, Felon. You can’t be too careful with these lil niggaz out here. You gotta test em to see what they’re really made of. I was just making sure we wouldn’t have a problem with the kid later on down the line. Now, he’s gotta be loyal to us.”
“Just because you made that kid kill his man, doesn’t mean he has to be anymore loyal to us,” Felon informed him. “What if he snaps and goes to the police or starts running his mouth?”
“Then we kill him, his momma, and any fucking body else that he might love.” Butter chuckled.
“That’s your fucking problem,” Felon snapped, “Iron ain’t always the answer, son. You so goddamn quick to prove ya gangsta. We done popped mad niggaz on the street when we was playing them corners. Now is the time when we supposed to be stacking chips and keeping a low profile. Ain’t you learned discretion yet?”
“Fuck that discretion shit, yo! Discretion didn’t get us to where we are. The hammer did. Niggaz gotta know we ain’t playing. Having a bunch of weak-ass niggaz around us ain’t gonna solidify our spot in the game. You gotta be heartless. Besides, I’m tired of being the only nigga putting in work.”
“What you trying to say?” Felon asked, cutting his eyes at his partner. “You acting like your hammer is the only one spitting?”
“I ain’t mean it like that, kid,” Butter assured him. “What I’m saying is, you don’t spend time in the trenches like that. This is our thing, but I’m out there with the soldiers every night. I know what it is, Felon.”
“Nigga, I ain’t got time to play grunt. I’m the one making sure the money is right and things are running smoothly.”
“And I love you for it.” Butter smiled. “I’m cool with what I do. I’m a field general and I ain’t got no problem with it, but allow me to do my job, fam. I gotta keep these muthafuckas in line the best way I know how. Two of my favorites are fear and manipulation. When these niggaz fear you, they can be manipulated to do just about anything. Like ya man Sean. I know the kid ain’t no killer, but he knew too much. I had to set him out like that. Now, you’re right about him possibly snapping and going to the police, but if he does, he’s guaranteed a healthy bid too. It was a judgment call.”
“Some fucking judgment,” Felon mumbled. “We did what we had to do to take over Macho’s shit and that was cool, but there ain’t no need for us to be putting unnecessary heat on ourselves. Just be cool.”
“Fuck cool, Felon. I’m bout my paper and the operation. All that cool shit will get you tried. This ain’t no Fortune five hundred corporation, we’re street hustler. These niggaz ain’t people, they’re fucking animals. The law of the jungle is: only the strong. I ain’t never been weak and I ain’t never gonna be weak!”
“Your head is like fucking rock.” Felon exhaled.
“And my gun is like a storm. Niggaz run for shelter or get wet the fuck up! Straight like that. Now fuck all this faggot shit you talking. Take me back to the hood so I can change my clothes. I’m bout to get fresh and go party with my boo. You need to stop playing and come get you some pussy.”
Felon just shrugged his shoulders and kept driving. He could sit there and try to get through to Butter for the rest of the night, but he still wouldn’t make the man understand where he was coming from. Butter was just one of those niggaz. Continuing the argument would get Felon nowhere, so he decided to leave the conversation alone and focus on the party. His boo was home and he had to make sure he was correct when he saw her again.
The sound of her phone ringing, again, brought Eve out of her nod. She hadn’t even realized that she had gone to sleep. Her digital clock read eleven twenty-five, so she knew just who it was on the other end. If it had been anything else, Cassidy would’ve been late, but for a party she always seemed to be on time.
“Yo.” Eve yawned.
“Bitch, I know you ain’t sleep.” Cassidy sucked her teeth.
“No,” she lied. “I’m up.”
“You need to come on, Eve. We’re gonna be late.”
“Okay, okay. Gimmie like a half and I’ll be ready.”
“Eve, we’re parked in front of your building. You’ve got twenty minutes before we start blowing this horn up,” Cassidy threatened.
“Yeah? Well don’t come crying to me when Uncle Bobby starts tossing grenades out the window,” she cracked. “See you in twenty.” Eve hung up before Cassidy could say anything.
Felon stood in the full-length mirror, admiring himself. He wasn’t really the dress-up type, but you couldn’t deny the fact that he cleaned up well. For the evening’s festivities he selected a pair of black slacks that weren’t tight, but fitted him. His forest green shirt was buttoned almost to the top. Beneath it, you could see his chiseled collarbone and the neckline of his tank top. His green Stacy Adams clicked on the hardwood floor as he strutted toward his bedroom door. He took one last look at the mirror to make sure his waves were spinning out of control and smiled. He was ready to ball.
When Felon got outside, Butter was already waiting. The was a first, because the man was notoriously tardy. Much like his partner, Butter was dressed to impress. He was decked out in a tailored gray suit that had a three-quarter jacket. The black mock neck hugged his broad chest, but wasn’t tight. In the center was a red and yellow gold medallion. The two sized each other up and smiled.
“Whooo-weee,” Butter squealed. “Look at my nigga! Man, Ron O’Neal ain’t got nothing on you. Pimp hard!”
“I do what I can, when I can,” Felon said, popping his shoulders.
“Well, let’s see if you can manage to get yourself some pussy tonight,” Butter said, adjusting his friend’s platinum cross.
“All you think about is pussy.” Felon swatted him away.
“Don’t forget money.” Butter smiled. “Fuck the dumb shit. It’s gonna be a lot of hoes at the spot tonight. I’m trying to slide wit at least two of them. You just make sure you don’t cramp my style wit you celibate ass.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
“Probably gonna be up in Eve’s ass all night.”
“Why you always sweating me?” Felon asked defensively.
“Cause you open and you won’t admit it. My nigga, I know you better than you know yourself. Now, you can stunt for everybody else, but I’m not convinced. You’re stuck on her.”
“How you figure that?”
“Fe
lon.” Butter folded his arms, “How many girls you been wit since Eve went away?”
“Nigga, I done fucked plenty of bitches,” Felon said proudly.
“Don’t avoid the question. I didn’t ask how many girls you fucked. I asked how many you been wit.”
Felon was silent.
“That’s just what I’m talking about,” Butter continued. “I’ve seen women come and go. Some of them been hoes, but some of them been nice too. But for some reason, you ain’t tried to seriously hook up with none of them. When Eve left, she took your heart with her, didn’t she?”
“Butter, that’s bullshit,” Felon said, trying to sound convincing. “I could say the same for you. You hook up wit a chick for a while, then you get bored. So somebody holding onto your heart too?”
“I’m a different case, baby. I don’t love these hoes.” Butter winked.
“Whatever. Let’s just go.” Felon had an attitude, but he couldn’t be mad. Butter had seen right through him. His insides burned whenever he was in Eve’s presence. He craved her, but time and again, heart battled against logic. They’re all scandalous. No, Eve is different. You’ll only hurt her. How many broken hearts? He shook his head, trying to get a grip. The tingling in his stomach told him that he would have to get the Eve situation under control, sooner or later.
Eighteen minutes after she had hung up with Cassidy, Eve was out the door. She had almost gotten delayed in the shower. It had been quite some time since she was able to take a shower without someone standing next to her. She wanted to stay under the water a while longer, but she knew Cassidy would probably make good on her threat. She really didn’t need to hear her uncle’s mouth anymore that night.
Eve trotted down the stairs. She had to stop a few times to adjust her skirt, cause it kept riding up on her. When she bought it, the skirt was a little loose on her. Now that she had gained a bit of thigh and ass, it was snug. Eve really didn’t do short skirts, because she was self-conscious about the bullet scar on her leg.
“Bout time,” Cassidy said, with her hands on her hips. “You know how long we’ve been out here waiting?”
“I said, my bad,” Eve brushed past her.
Cassidy looked her over. “Baby girl, you working that lil denim piece.” She turned and switched toward the car. A group of guys passed by and threw catcalls at the girls. Cassidy was looking good enough to eat. She was wearing a black dress that hung low in the back and showed off way too much cleavage. The stiletto heels she was standing on made her look more statuesque that she already was. Eve watched her friend strut her stuff and smiled.
Eve got into the passenger seat and greeted Rhonda, who was rolling a blunt in the back. Rhonda was one of those girls who had a very pretty face but couldn’t keep her weight down. Most of the time she wore big clothes to try and draw attention from her size, but it was apparent that Cassidy had a hand in her outfit that night. She wore a halterlike dress that squeezed her around the midsection and pushed up her double-D breasts. Her hair was cut into layers and rinsed in a plum hue.
“What up, Eve?” Rhonda asked in her squeaky voice.
“Nothing much.” Eve smiled, “just glad to be home.”
“I know that’s right. I did time before and it wasn’t nothing nice.”
“Bitch, please,” Cassidy said, putting the car in gear, “spending the weekened in jail does not count as doing time.”
“Two days or two years, it’s all time,” Rhonda said, trying to add merit to her imprisonment.
“Anyway,” Cassidy said, rolling her eyes.
“You ready to get your swerve on, Eve?” Rhonda asked.
“I don’t know about no swerving,” Eve said, looking out the window at the passing sights, “but I could use a good time.”
“You could use a good dick.” Cassidy snickered.
“Fuck you,” Eve said, sticking her middle finger up playfully. “I ain’t no hoe, like you.”
“There you go, getting me confused. See,” Cassidy said, stopping for a red light, “I ain’t no hoe. I’m a woman who enjoys life’s simple pleasures. I gets mine, that’s without a doubt, but its only because I believe in keeping my pussy from rusting. A bitch like you probably got cobwebs on ya shit.”
“You wish.” Eve chuckled.
“I know you, baby girl. Your pussy ain’t never had a good workout. Then again, I might be wrong. I heard them bitches in jail get real freaky. One of them turn you out, boo?”
“I don’t think so. I might be rough, but I ain’t a vegetarian. Every girl needs a lil meat in her diet,” Eve said, giving Rhonda a high five.
“I should hope so,” Cassidy said, moving through the green light, “cause ya man is gonna be there tonight. You need to stop playing and give him some.”
“Here we go again.” Eve sighed. “First of all, Felon ain’t my man. Second of all, I’ll hold on to my virginity until I’m ready to let it go.”
“Eve, you’re still a virgin?” Rhonda asked, covering her mouth in shock.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Eve said, turning to face Rhonda.
“I’m not saying that. It’s just…strange,” Rhonda said, trying to clean it up.
“Eve is saving herself,” Cassidy added. “She’s waiting for some square-ass nigga to come riding in on a white horse and sweep her off her feet. Yeah, right!”
“Cassidy, you always gotta amp some shit.” Eve rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say all that. I’m just waiting.”
“For what?”
Eve didn’t have an answer for the question. People would often tease her about not liking guys. Some would even go as far as speculating about her sexual orientation. Eve was totally heterosexual, but she wasn’t as open about men as her friends were. For as hard as she was on the outside, she was totally sheepish when it came to the opposite sex. She was almost eighteen and could count on one hand how many times she had even kissed a guy. She just wasn’t as caught up in them as most girls her age. Eve wasn’t saving herself for marriage or anything like that, she was just waiting for the right guy to come along.
9.
Felon sat in the booth, sipping a glass of Moet nectar. The club was slowly but surely filling up. Felon detested crowds. If you had more than five or six people in a room at one time, he was on edge. That’s why he chose to stay in the booth. From where he was sitting, he could see the whole dance floor and the bar. He made it a point to never be in a position where someone could get the drop on him.
There were plenty of players from all over New York in the house. Some he was cool with, some he wasn’t. He greeted his associates, and kept a watchful eye on his rivals. They noticed Felon sitting there, alone, but no one dared try anything. Even if they did, he wasn’t worried about it. The .38 strapped to his ankle would’ve squashed any confrontation before it got out of hand.
A shadow loomed over Felon. “Buy a taste for an old project nigga?”
Felon had his pistol halfway drawn when he noticed who the voice belonged to. Bullet stood over him dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans. His leather peacoat was totally buttoned, with the exception of the bottom three. This made it easier for him to draw whatever he was carrying, a trick that he had passed onto Felon early in the game.
Just seeing his elder brought back memories of days long gone. They had been cool for years. Felon was robbing cats before hooking up with Bullet, but he was the one who taught him how to do it the right way. Sitting in a staircase or a car, scoping out a vic. The stale smell of tobacco on Bullet’s breath as he whispered for the youngster not to blow the element of surprise. They had pulled quite a few capers together.
“What’s good, nigga? You almost got popped creeping on me like that,” Felon joked.
“Yeah, but all you would’ve done was knock the wind outta me wit that punk-ass thirty-eight,” Bullet tapped his knuckles against his Teflon breastplate.
“Sit your know-it-all ass down.” Felon used his foot and slid a chair out for Bullet. The robber
baron oozed into the chair and angled it so he could see all around him. “I know you ain’t in here plotting,” Felon continued.
“Nah, I just stepped out for a drink.” Bullet smiled.
“Bullshit. Bullet, Eve is out on parole. Don’t start that shit with her up in here.”
“Come on, nigga. You know I love Eve same as you do. Well, maybe not the same.” Bullet raised an eyebrow. “Point is, I’m not in here casing the joint. On another note, how’s the new gig treating you?”
“I can’t complain.”
“I hear that. I see you shining and all,” Bullet motioned toward Felon’s chain.
“I like to throw it on every now and again.” Felon adjusted the piece.
The conversation was momentarily paused when the waitress approached their table. From the wooden tray she was carrying she produced two shots of Henny. She placed one in front of Bullet and the other in front of Felon. She smiled briefly and sauntered back into the crowd. Felon looked at Bullet quizzically, but Bullet just winked.
“Can you still hold yak, or has that fancy living killed your taste for anything except champagne?” Bullet teased.
“A’int nothing changed but the decimal point.” Felon slid the glass closer to himself.
“Road to the riches and all that. I can dig it. I still get mine the old fashion way, knocking niggaz over the head. You ain’t too far gone from the game to remember what that feels like, right?”
“Yeah, I remember. Hiding in corners, laying on a vic. Those was the days man, but they’re giving out too much job for that snatch-and-grab shit. I’m good with that old thug-ass shit.”
“You need to hear yaself, kid,” Bullet chuckled. “You getting paper, and I ain’t mad at you, but you’ve become the same kinda nigga we used to scheme on.”
Felon had never really thought about it like that. When he and Bullet were getting down, they made it a point never to rob civilians. Stores and gas stations didn’t count, but when they were plotting on individuals, they were usually drug dealers and underworld players. They figured that they were doing the community a service by relieving the parasites of their goods. Not only that, they were more lucrative heists.
