by K'wan
She moved in and out of the various stores on 125th, picking out things she needed and things she just wanted. Eve loved shopping, and she got a kick out of the weird looks she was drawing, picking out thongs and bras from a lingerie store. She was still dressed like a boy so she could only imagine how it must’ve looked.
After she finished shopping, Eve decided to head back to the block. Before going upstairs she wanted to pick up some Cracker Jacks for Beast and a few cans of food for his kitty. Inside the store, Eve bumped into a familiar face. He was tall and muscular, with a scar that ran from his ear to his cheek. His boxed braids hung down to his shoulders and were tied off by red rubber bands. If a person couldn’t guess his affiliation by the numerous tattoos on his neck and arms, the red bandanna hanging from his right back pocket was a dead giveaway.
“Brother Bone,” she said, easing up behind him.
Bone reflexively went for his hammer, but stayed his hand when he saw who was addressing him. “Eve? Baby girl, that you?”
“Who did you think it was?” she asked, punching him in the arm.
“Never can tell these days, ma,” he said, ruffling the newspaper in his hand. “Gutter and them fool-ass niggaz from Harlem done turn this muthafucka out. It’s open season on anything in red. Most of these niggaz be tucking they flags, but I’m true to my shit. Word to mine.”
“Fuck had you so caught up that I could’ve snuck up on you?” she asked.
“You ain’t heard?” He handed her the Daily News. When Eve read the headline, her heart almost dropped.
INMATE MURDERS PRISON GUARD AT JUVENILE DETENTION CENTER
She already knew what the article would say, but she read it anyhow.
Michael Scruggs, 18, was awaiting transfer to stand trial for the murder of a rival gang member in another facility. When correction officers opened his cell to transport him, Scruggs attacked them with a homemade knife. Scruggs was killed in the battle, but not before he wounded one officer and killed another. Officer Kevin Murphy, 31, was pronounced dead at later that evening from injuries to the chest and neck. He leaves behind a wife and three daughters. Authorities are still investigating how Scruggs got the knife into his cell.
“Damn, he went and did it,” Eve said to no one in particular.
“You knew about this shit, Eve?” Bone asked.
“Yeah,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, “I talked to him on the morning I got out. He was going through a thang, so I figured he was just talking. I didn’t think he would really do it.”
“Yeah, ma. That nigga went out G style. Pigs took my little man outta here. Me and the crew gonna party it up for the homey. The set had much love for him, ma.”
Eve’s mind went back to the conversation she had with Scruggs on her way out. Bone was part of the very same crew that had abandoned Scruggs when he got locked up. Now he was talking about how they were all broken up and how much love the crew had for him. It all sounded like bullshit to her. Eve was so twisted by the news that she didn’t even bother to get her items from the store. She gave Bone dap and went her way.
The news of Scruggs’ death had her shaken, to say the least. The world around her was changing and it wasn’t for the better. Black kids were losing their lives left and right, all in the name of nonsense. It was times like those that Eve had thought about hanging up her pistol and going straight, but what would she do? She had gotten her GED, but other than that, she really didn’t have any skills. She could always try to make the best out of it and go into one of the job-placement programs that they offered parolees, but she couldn’t see herself slaving for pennies. No. She would just have to get it how she got it until a better idea came to her.
She trekked up the stairs to her apartment so she could put her bags away. After what had happened, she needed to get low and get her thoughts together. She had hoped that Uncle Bobby would either be sleeping or too busy to notice her, but no such luck. When she entered the apartment, he was parked in the living room watching a documentary on the World War II. He shot her a suspicious look as she passed with the bags.
“Been shopping?” he asked, chewing on the filter of his cigarette.
“Yeah, I had to go pick up a few things,” she said, trying to keep it moving.
“Don’t look like no few things to me. Looks like a whole lot of something.”
“You know how us women are, Uncle Bobby.”
“Sit down for a minute, Evelyn.” She thought about protesting, but the look on his face said that he wasn’t trying to hear that. With a sigh she flopped on the couch. “So, what’s going on with you?” he asked.
“Nothing much. Just taking it light.”
“Joe-Joe, I ain’t flew here, I grew here. I ain’t never been no fool,” he told her. “You ain’t been home forty-eight hours and you hardly been here.”
“Come on, Uncle Bobby. I’m just trying to readjust to society,” she whined.
“That’s bullshit and you know it, girl. Evelyn, I might not have no legs, but my eyes and ears work just fine. When you got out of lockup, you didn’t have a pot to piss in, now you’re shopping and carrying on to all hours of the night. Don’t let one of them slick-talking niggers get you into some shit you can’t get out of.”
“You know me better than that,” she responded.
“Indeed I do. That’s how I know you ain’t up to no good out there.”
“Listen, a few of the home boys scraped some money up and gave it to me as a welcome-home present,” she half lied.
“I’ll just bet,” he said, examining her. “And what did you have to do for that money?”
“Not a damn thing. I ain’t no hoe,” she said defensively.
“You watch your mouth and I never said you was no hoe. I just know that something don’t come for nothing. Whatever you’re up to, don’t be no fool.”
“Never that. I got too much up here,” she said, pointing at her head, “to go out like a sucker.”
“I sure hope so. Freedom is a precious thing, Evelyn. If your time away ain’t taught you nothing else, it should’ve taught you that.”
Bobby and Eve talked for a while longer before he excused her to her room. Uncle Bobby might’ve been getting on in years, but he was still sharp as ever. She respected his concern for her, but really didn’t have time for the sermons. It was a cold world, this she could testify to firsthand. People who waited around for it to come to them were destined to starve. Eve knew that if you wanted something in life, you had to go out and take it.
15.
Carlo was a man who liked the finer things in life. Fine clothes, fine women, and fine furnishings. The luxurious apartment he owned on Central Park West was among the finest the city had to offer. The walls of the sunk-in living room were painted an eggshell white. The plush green carpet was so thick that you could pitch a quarter into it and have a hard time finding it. The four-piece sectional, imported straight from Palermo, was decorated in swirling green and gold patterns. Along shelves and on mantles were pictures of prestigious-looking Italians, and in the center, Carlo held court.
“Gentlemen, it’s about to snow in Harlem.” Carlo smiled, letting the weed smoke seep out through his mouth and nose. With his blue eyes shining through the mist, Carlo looked almost demonic. He knew that the strange color of his eyes made men uncomfortable, and he played on that for effect. It was a tactic his father had taught him early in the game. Present with him were his two capos.
Tony was a short man who was shaped something like a soccer ball. He had wavy brown hair that he always wore slicked to his head like an old-world gangster. Franko and Tony’s father had done business together back in the days, so the boys spent a lot of time together growing up. Carlo trusted him as if he was his own blood.
Salvatore actually was his blood. He was his first cousin, on his mother’s side. Unlike Carlo, Sal had been born in Sicily. He had just finished high school and was allowed to finish his studies in America. Uncle Franko had promised to look
after the boy, so he allowed Carlo to give him a job. He was eighteen and dangerous.
“You think them niggers are gonna pull it off, C?” Tony asked.
“That kid Felon has got a head for numbers. Then when you add that fucking pit bull he runs with, minga! They’ll pull it off.”
“I don’t get it,” Sal said in a heavy accent, “why you do business with these guys? In Sicily, they’re servants, mistresses. Here, you do business with them?”
“This is the land of opportunity, cousin,” Carlo said with a casual smile. “You gotta see past the color lines to make the big bucks. These kids are from the streets, so this shit is already in em. We’re just giving them something to work with. This thing goes off like we expect it to, we’ll all be able to get a nice taste. Fuck these few blocks we’re holding, we could take over the whole borough.”
“Why not the city?” Tony added.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Carlo patted him on the shoulder. “Wishful thinking. Trust me on this one, guys.” Carlo’s phone ringing interrupted their conversation. He listened for a second, then covered the receiver. “Listen guys, I gotta take this. I’ll get with you later on.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” Cassidy said, cradling her phone. “And the tennis bracelet was beautiful.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Cassidy. Someone like you should always be surrounded by beautiful things.” Carlo was always slick with his words. “You really wanna thank me, then accept my dinner invitation.”
“I don’t really know you to be alone with you,” she said, toying. “I mean, for all I know you could be some kind of sicko.”
“Cut it out, Cassidy. You know I ain’t no kind of monster. I’ll tell you what, we can do it at a restaurant of your choosing. That way they’ll be plenty of people around.”
“Sounds fair, I guess.”
“So, I’ll come through your block at about…seven-thirty. How’s that?”
“No, don’t come through here,” she blurted out a little too quickly. “I’ll meet you somewhere.”
“What, your man gonna spot us?” Carlo asked suspiciously.
“Nah, I told you I ain’t got no man,” Cassidy insisted, going back to her “in control” tone, “I just don’t want these niggaz around here all in my business. I’ll meet you in front of White Castle on a Hundred and Twenty-fifth. You know where that is?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good. How’s Amy Ruth’s sound to you?”
“I’ve never been there,” he admitted.
“All right, then that’s where we’ll go. I’ll see you later, Cassidy.”
“Later, Carlo.” Cassidy disconnected the call and immediately headed for her closet. She had chosen Amy Ruth’s because it was reasonably priced. Not that she gave a damn about what he had to come out of his pocket with; it was all just a part of her G. She would have Carlo believing that she was a humble girl just out to find a good man to take care of her. He’d fall for it and she’d be getting hit with paper from time to time. This was all just a preliminary to the big show.
Keisha lay flat on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. The full length gray fur was hiked up just a little bit in the back, exposing a small amount of cheek. She rolled over to her side and began to suck on her fingers. She took her free hand and slid it down across her round breast and began to massage her clit. Paul watched the show and tried not to slobber all over himself.
Slowly she beckoned for him to join her, which he did all too happily. Starting with his head and ending with his penis, Keisha kissed him softly. When she took him into her mouth, Paul almost came. He had never felt something that warm and tender. A few times, he had to look down to make sure she hadn’t slipped him into her raw.
When she felt his penis swelling like he wanted to cum, she stopped. Paul tried to push her head down, but she pushed him away. Instead of continuing with her head job, she just brushed her nail against the shaft. Precum began to leak from the head and run down the sides. She figured he was about ready.
Keisha reached under the pillow and pulled out a ribbed condom. She popped it in her mouth and applied it to Paul’s penis. When the condom was in place, Keisha climbed on his wood and went for what she knew. She leaned over to one side so she could get a better grip on the edge of the bed and began to buck wildly. Both of them made animal-like grunts as they explored each other. Paul made a series of ugly faces, then sighed as if someone had let all the air out of him.
Keisha looked at Paul in disgust. He always came before she got into her groove. Even though he spent paper, she expected to at least get a nut once in a while. Paul had most definitely outlived his usefulness.
“Daddy,” she sang, “you’re the best.”
“You know I do what I can, when I can,” Paul said, breathing hard.
“I’m in a good mood now. Baby, we still going out tonight?” When Paul looked like he was going to flake, she added. “I feel like shaking my ass tonight.” She saw the light go on in his eyes immediately. He seemed to like watching her dance almost as much as fucking her.
“I guess we can still go,” he said. “I don’t really fuck with The Lab like that, but there’s supposed to be a big party in there tonight.”
She clapped excitedly. “Yeah, let’s get pretty and stunt tonight.”
Paul felt nothing but joy in his life when he looked at Keisha. From the moment he met her, he was smitten. She was fine as hell and her head game was choice. Paul had started neglecting the shorties he already had and had cut others loose. Since he had been with her, it had been about Keisha and only Keisha.
“Listen, baby,” he said, pulling her down to the bed, “these last couple of days have been the best. I never met nobody like you, ma. We need to stop bullshitting and see where we can go with this. Word.”
“You mean that?” she asked with glassy eyes.
“For real. I mean, I ain’t say I wanna get married or nothing, but I’m trying to fuck with you like that. Be my girl, Keisha?”
“Of course,” she said, letting a tear run down her cheek. “I’ll be your girl!”
They both hugged and let tears flow freely. Paul was crying because he was happy, she was crying because she hadn’t expected him to be such an easy mark. Paul was cool, but there was no way she could be his girl. After Eve plucked him clean, there was no way he’d be able to afford her.
Dre sat behind the wheel of his ’88 Regal, watching the comings and goings of the hood. He inhaled deeply on his Newport in silent contemplation of his task. A member of Felon’s crew, named Vinny, passed right by his car and never spared Dre a second look. He watched the young man meet up with two of his friends and pile into a late-model truck. He thought about following him to see what he might learn, but decided against it. He would wait on bigger prey.
About forty-five minutes after the boys departed, Dre peeped Butter come out of the building. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he relived the night the youngster had punked him. Butter had showed his ass and made Dre look like a fool, but he would pay for it.
“That him?” asked a voice from the backseat.
“Yeah,” Dre croaked, “that’s him.”
Johnny Black leaned forward so he could get a better look at his intended target. In the dimly lit car, all you could see of Johnny was his teeth and the whites of his eyes. His pupils were pitch black and devoid of any kind of shine. He wasn’t even old enough to drink, but he knew how to make a man lie down. The Outlaw, as he was called, would take nearly any job.
“A’ight.” Johnny nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Like I told your man, half up front.”
“Damn, y’all young niggaz is so impatient. Always in a rush for some shit. I got paper, nigga, so don’t play me like a fraud. I ain’t gonna jerk you,” Dre said, directing his anger for Butter at Johnny.
“Oh, I know that, Dre,” Johnny said coldly, but never taking his eyes off Butter, “cause we both know how much I enjoy my work.” D
re looked at Johnny, but the youngster never turned to meet his gaze.
16.
Eve and Bullet walked up to the address Keisha had given them and looked around. It was a quiet block in Flatbush that was lined with small houses and trees. It was a good thing that they had parked the van a block away, because it would’ve probably looked suspicious sitting in the driveway.
“Pretty nice joint,” Bullet said, sizing up the residence, “but I ain’t impressed.”
“It’s not what’s on the outside, it’s what the vic could be hiding on the inside. You taught me that,” she reminded him, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves.
The duo made their way around to the back door and set to work on the lock. Eve was skeptical about bringing someone else in on the job, but she knew she would need help. Bullet was the perfect man for the job. He picked the lock with the skill of someone who had over a decade of breaking and entering under his belt. Within minutes they were stalking through Paul’s house.
The place was decorated in simple blacks and whites. The living room boasted a fifty-five-inch color television, equipped with a surround-sound system. The TV could stay, but the system was definitely getting lifted. Kiesha had told Eve exactly where the good shit was and said anything else she carted out was hers.
“Damn, I thought you said this cat had some paper” Bullet whispered.
“Be easy. The good shit is upstairs.” Eve led Bullet upstairs to a tastefully decorated bedroom. A twenty-inch plasma TV was mounted to the wall, but a wooden canopy bed dominated most of the bedroom. With some help from Bullet, Eve moved the bed and examined the floorboards. The floor was polished to a shine except in one spot where the colors didn’t quite match. To the untrained eye it wouldn’t have seemed unusual, but Eve knew just what she was looking for.
