Eve

by K'wan

  “Come on with that shit, Eve. It ain’t happening between me and Butter. Carlo is taking care of me and I care about him.”

  “Do you care about him, or what he’s doing for you?” Eve asked.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Big difference, baby girl. All you’ll be is a showpiece to him. That dago ain’t trying to wife you.”

  “Look, all I know is he’s getting what he wants and I’m getting what I want. Listen to you trying to explain affairs of the heart to me. What you need to do is go to Felon and tell him how you feel, before one of these skank-ass bitches slide up into your spot.”

  “Please, they can have him,” Eve said, folding her arms.

  “You can’t front for me. I’ve known you too long. Evelyn.”

  One of the reasons that Cassidy irritated the hell out of Eve was that, no matter what type of front she tried to put on, Cassidy could see through it. In truth, her heart ached for Felon, but her mind made her numb to it. Felon had been a good confidant to her for a good number of years. If she took that extra step, things would change. And what if it didn’t work? Felon was a man and therefore he could only be trusted to a certain extent. She wasn’t sure if she was willing to give up a friend for a shot in the dark.

  “Listen,” Cassidy said, cutting into her thoughts, “we gonna stand out here and bullshit, or you gonna come and help me spend some of Carlo’s money?”

  Eve looked at Beast, then back to Cassidy.

  “Okay, he can come too,” Cassidy said reluctantly. The three of them climbed into Cassidy’s Acura, with Beast taking up the entire backseat, and headed to the Green Acres Mall.

  “Keith, how much longer are you gonna make me wear this blindfold?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

  “We’re almost there, Ma,” Felon assured her. They had been driving for the better part if an hour and Felon’s mother was getting restless. Sammy sat in the backseat snickering because he knew about the surprise. After about another twenty minutes, Felon pulled up in a quiet suburb in Westchester County.

  “Come on,” he said helping his mother out of the car. He lead her a few paces and removed the blindfold. Mrs. Johnson found herself speechless.

  It was a small Victorian house, surrounded by neatly trimmed grass. A beautiful L-shaped porch outlined the house, giving it a regal presence. The house wasn’t in top condition, but it was still very nice. Once Felon put some work into it, it would be beautiful again.

  “What is this?” Mrs. Johnson asked, looking at the house.

  “Surprise, Mommy!” Sammy shouted.

  “It’s for you, Ma,” Felon said with a smile.

  “How did you—”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “It’s bought and paid for, Ma. I’ve been saving the money for the last couple of years. I know the guy who owned it, so he gave me a good deal.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, still staring at the house in astonishment.

  “Believe it, Ma. It’s yours. You can move in as soon as the repairs are finished. You’ve been taking care of me all my life and I wanted to do something for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hugging him. “Thank you so much.”

  Felon felt a warm tear run down his cheek. All the years of doing dirt were finally starting to pay off. He had been getting money before, but when Carlo had hit him with the new product, his income damn near tripled. Now that he had gotten his mother and little brother out of the way, he could get his grind on without fearing for their safety. It was time to get it popping.

  “So, any ideas?” Teddy asked, putting the finishing touches on a blunt of haze.

  “Nigga, if I knew who tried to have me killed, they’d be dead,” Butter snapped. He didn’t admit it to his young’n, but his nerves were fried. He was that nigga in the streets, yet someone had been bold enough to try to lay hands on him. If it hadn’t been for Teddy, Butter would’ve been a statistic. The worst part it, he had crossed so many people there was no telling who had tried to touch him.

  “We gotta stay on point,” Teddy said, lighting the blunt. “Just because they missed the first time, doesn’t mean they’re gonna be sloppy with the next hit.”

  “Them muthafuckas come at me again.” Butter picked up the sawed-off that was sitting on the table. “And they gonna go out in a blaze of glory, son.”

  “Butter, you know I’m always down to bust my hammer for you, but we gotta be smart about this shit. You’re a made man, so whoever tried this shit has got balls the size of Canada or be connected to some real powerful muthafuckas. You get into it with anybody lately?”

  “Not that I can think of. I mean, I lay my pimp hand down on these suckers on the block, but that shit is usual.”

  “Nah, Butter,” Teddy waved him off. “This shit goes deeper than some block shit. For a muthafucka to try and have you clapped in such a public place has really got a hard on for you. This shit is personal.”

  “Ted, niggaz hate just for the sake of hating. I’m that nigga on the block, so muthafuckas envy me. I haven’t done anything fucked up enough for a nigga to take it personal. Man, for all we know it could’ve been some random nigga trying to get his stripes.”

  “Butter, we gotta be overlooking something.” Teddy stood up and began pacing the floor. With the blunt hanging out the side of his mouth and his arms folded behind his back, he looked like a black-ass Castro. Suddenly his pacing stopped and he looked at Butter. “What about that nigga from the club?”

  “What nigga from the club?” Butter asked, lighting his blunt. The extra blunt doubled the size of the already lingering weed cloud.

  “The old head. He was in the club the night Eve came out. You cuffed his jewelery.”

  “Oh, punk-ass Dre?” Butter chuckled. “That nigga ain’t bout shit, fam. He damn sure ain’t got the weight or heart to come at me.”

  “Don’t underestimate that cat, B. you embarrassed him in front of his peoples. I know I would’ve taken that shit real personal.”

  Butter reclined in the folding chair and scratched his chin. Could Dre think to mount an attack against him? Not likely. He did some dirt back in the day, but he was a nobody in the age of the modern gangsta. To have a hit put on a man of Butter’s caliber took paper. Dre was a broke-ass nigga trying to hold onto a legacy. Even if he had held a grudge, why would he have waited so long to move? It had to be someone else.

  “I don’t think it’s Dre.” Butter shook his head. “He ain’t got the paper. Its gotta be someone else. Maybe even an upstart crew?”

  “Fuck it. Either way, we’re not gonna be caught slipping. You niggaz is my meal ticket. Can’t let you go dying on me,” Teddy joked and threw his arm playfully over Butter’s shoulder.

  Butter had a lot of love for Teddy. Felon had recruited him, but he and Butter seemed to share a lot of the same interest. Violence.

  Eve was nearly out on her feet after the day she had had with Cassidy. They hit Green Acres Mall, then drove out to another spot in New Jersey, with Cassidy stopping in nearly every store. Eve had brought a few items for herself, but Cassidy had gone to work. The fact that she had too many bags to carry on her own was the reason that Eve found herself walking into the den of Carlo De Nardi.

  Eve was impressed by the high-rise building. It was a gray structure with a green canopy bearing its address. A balding Hispanic man held the door for them and helped carry the bags across the carpeted lobby to the elevator. The car was plated in gold and didn’t have so much as a smudge on it.

  They stepped off the elevator onto the eleventh floor. The hallway was carpeted in the same maroon as the lobby. Rows of soft lighting lined the walls, shining a faint glow on the wallpaper. At the end of the hall, a man sat on a stool reading a newspaper. He looked up at Cassidy and spoke into a hand radio. Only after a response came through did he look at Cassidy and wave her forward. Eve followed her friend into the apartment, never once taking her eyes off the bodyguard.

  Carlo
’s apartment was decorated just as she would’ve expected it to be. The best of everything. From the plush carpet to the expensive furniture, Carlo had set it out. Cassidy left Eve in the living room while she disappeared into the bedroom. Eve took a moment to look around the place. She ran her hands along the edge of his big-screen TV and imagined how a playoff game would look on it. Carlo’s stereo system sat in a glass case with two rail-thin speakers flanking them. She was taken by the décor of the place, but her eyes lingered one on side of the room in particular.

  Eve moved close to the wall and began to examine the pictures. They depicted what she assumed was Carlo’s family. Sicilian men of all shapes and sizes, striking regal poses. As she moved down the line, her eyes came to rest on the last two pictures. The one at the end of the row was of Carlo, and the other was of his father. Something about the man’s face made Eve’s body shiver. It was as if someone had run an ice cube down the small of her back. For some reason she was afraid.

  The closest she had ever come to catching a glimpse of Franko De Nardi was in blurred newspaper clippings. This picture however, depicted him in great detail. His slick hair, the bushy eyebrows. You could look into his cold blue eyes and tell he was a killer. That’s probably why Eve felt so creepy looking at him.

  After her inspection of the portraits, Eve parked herself on the couch. She was immediately engulfed by the soft leather. She had to readjust herself so as not to look like she was stretched out. After a few minutes passed she began to feel herself getting tired. She wished Cassidy would hurry up so she could drop her off. Just as she was about to call to her friend, she heard shouting.

  “What the fuck? You don’t know how to knock?” Carlo shouted, still leaning over the plate of cocaine.

  “Sorry, I just…what the fuck?” Cassidy said, seeing the plate. “Carlo, what’s going on?”

  “I’m trying to get fucking high. What does it look like?” he asked.

  “Since when do you sniff?” she asked.

  “Come on, Cas. Don’t be a square. It’s just a little coke. Geez, you act like you walked in on me hitting the pipe or something. What am I, some fucking junkie here?”

  “No, Carlo. It just surprised me.”

  “Come here,” he said, patting his thigh. Cassidy timidly walked over and complied. “Why you gotta act all crazy?” He nuzzled against her earlobe.

  “Carlo, how do expect me to act when I come here and find you sniffing coke? Come on now.”

  “Don’t act like I’m the first person you’ve dealt with that snorts. Don’t gimmie that shit. Listen baby,” he said, scooping a small amount of powder onto his finger, “this shit is purely recreational. It’s so low-grade that you can barely get right. Try a little.”

  Cassidy frowned her face and turned away from the powder. She knew plenty of people who sniffed, but it wasn’t her thing. If weed and drinks couldn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. Cassidy refused the coke and got up from Carlo’s lap, almost knocking the coke over.

  “Fucking-A, Cassidy!”

  “I told you, I don’t want any!” she shouted.

  “You know, you can be a real fucking brat sometimes,” he said venomously. “I take better care of you than that fucking shmuck Butter ever did, and all you do is complain. What the fuck is this shit?”

  “Hold on,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “don’t you be coming out ya mouth to me like that. I ain’t wanna them hood rat bitches you’re used to dealing with. Check ya self!”

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Before Cassidy could blink, Carlo was standing inches away from her. Seeing the maddened look in his eye caused her to back up a step. Carlo’s eyes flashed pure rage as spittle flew from his mouth. “I ain’t some fucking street-corner hump! You better watch your fucking mouth. Before I—”

  “Before what?” she asked defiantly. Her heart was pumping damn near out of her chest, but she tried her best not to show Carlo that she was afraid.

  He stared at her, clenching his fist. Just when Cassidy thought he was about to knock her out, Carlo turned and kicked over the table with the coke. “Shit!” he yelled. “Cassidy, I’m gonna fuck you up one of these days.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said snatching her purse. “This shit is wack!” Cassidy spun and headed for the door.

  “So you just gonna leave?” he called after her. “Fuck it then! I don’t need you. Run back to the fucking ghetto!”

  Eve was on her way down the hall when Cassidy came storming out of the master bedroom. Her face was contorted into a mask of rage, giving Eve pause. Without uttering a word, Cassidy strode past Eve to the front door. Eve looked back at the half-opened bedroom door and could see what looked like sugar spilled on the carpet. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed her friend out the door.

  Johnny Black sat on a bar stool within the murky recesses of Lucky’s bar, listening to Dre rant. Ever since receiving news of the botched hit on Butter he had been a wreck. Johnny wasn’t moved at all. It was part of his plan.

  “Man, how you gonna fuck it up, Johnny?” Dre asked for the eighth time.

  “I told you that I’d take care of it, didn’t I?” Johnny asked, looking up from his Pepsi.

  “Fuck that shit,” Dre said, advancing on the youngster. “You were paid good money for that hit and you fucked it up. I want answers, goddamn it!”

  Before Dre could take another step, Johnny was on him. He grabbed Dre about the collar with his right hand and gripped his pistol with the left. Dre tried to pull away, but Johnny spun him around so that Dre’s back was now against the bar. Dre’s boys tried to move, but Johnny raised the pistol to Dre’s head. He flashed a wicked smile at the men, causing them to back up.

  “Let me tell you something,” Johnny hissed. “First of all, you watch how you talk to me, muthafucka. I done put enough niggaz to sleep, so laying yo bum ass out is light. Second of all, it might be your beef, but it sure as hell ain’t your bread paying for this boy’s nap. You’re acting like you run things all of a sudden. What kind of fucking fool do you take me for? I know it’s Carlo’s money that’s paying for this hit. You’re just a fall guy in case something goes wrong. Ass-munch. I does this shit here, so be the fuck cool and let me handle my business. We understand each other?” Dre nodded. “Good,” Johnny said, pushing him roughly on the bar.

  Still holding his pistol at his side, Johnny backed out of the bar. Dre and his crew looked at him angrily, but no one moved to try and stop him. If Johnny hadn’t proven anything else, he had proven that he was quite dangerous.

  Butter coasted down Lenox Avenue at about five miles an hour. He had a blunt hanging out of his mouth and Big Tymers’ “1 Stunner” blasting from his speakers. He was smiling and waving like the president as people admired his new red CLK with the red and gold rims. It was one of the two new cars he had purchased since becoming the man. He was truly playing the roll of a ghetto star.

  At 116th he cut over to 7th then made his way back up toward 118th. He double-parked the CLK in front the T-shirt spot and checked the clip of the P89 that rode in the passenger seat. After tucking the gun in his waistband, he hopped out of the ride and greeted his public.

  A group of young men were posted up on the corner, watching Butter with envy. He knew that they were sizing him up, but he also knew that they were aware of who he was, so they wouldn’t try him. The word had gotten out about his little phantom war and he was taking no prisoners.

  Butter went into the store and purchased a 5X black T-shirt. He slipped the black T-shirt over the bulletproof vest that he had taken to wearing and looped his dinner plate–sized medallion back around his neck. It was hot as hell, and the vest had him sweating like a runaway slave, but he couldn’t afford to take chances. It was like Teddy said, “Just because they missed once, doesn’t mean they’ll miss again.” If a nigga did come for him, they’d be in for the shock of their life. In addition to the P89 he carried, his trusty sawed-off was tucked in the backseat.

 
; When Butter came out of the store, he noticed that a young lady had joined the group of dudes on the corner. She was dark skinned with an ass shaped like an apple. Just by her body language, he could tell that she was a hood bitch. Just like he liked them. The young men were trying to lay their mack game down, but they had nothing on Butter.

  He stood in front of the store until he made eye contact with the girl. When he was sure he had her attention, he walked slowly to his ride. Even without looking back, he could still feel her eyes on him. Butter leaned against the car and gave her a seductive look. He paused momentarily, then motioned for the girl to come to him. Like a hypnosis patient, she did as he requested. The young men shot them angry looks and cursed under their breath, but they didn’t want it with one of Harlem’s new kings.

  “What’s up, baby?” he said, licking his lips.

  “Chilling,” she said, looking from him to the car. “What’s up wit you?”

  “Trying to figure out what you’re doing over there with them lil niggaz, instead of checking for the kid.”

  “Oh, yeah? And who are you that I should be checking for?”

  “I’m that nigga, baby. You ain’t know?”

  “Is that right?” she said, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Indeed it is, boo. Listen, fuck the dumb shit. Why don’t you hop in and go for a spin with me? We can get to know each other and shit,” he said, adjusting his crotch.

  “I don’t be hopping in niggaz’ cars I don’t know.”

  “The name is Butter, baby, aka Butter soft, aka every woman’s dream.”

  She chuckled. “You’re a funny guy.”

  “You don’t know the half.” He smiled. “Listen, boo. I’d love to stand out here kicking the shit with you, but time is money. Either you’re rolling, or you ain’t.” Butter didn’t wait for an answer. He walked around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Before he could start the car, the girl had hopped in. By the time he made it to 135th, he had his dick buried in her throat. Yes, he truly was the number-one stunner.