by K'wan
“I ain’t down for no fucking kidnapping, Eve,” Bullet warned.
“Be easy,” she said, opening the car door, “I just wanna talk to her.” Before he could protest further, she disappeared around the corner.
Bullet fired up the engine and coasted the car up the block. A few of the other streetwalkers tried to get his attention, but he ignored them and coasted to a stop in front of the girl Eve had pointed out. She kept her distance from the car, trying to decipher friend from foe. A working girl had to beware of predators on the track. If the police weren’t trying to entrap you, the various pimps in the area were trying to make you choose.
“What’s going on, baby girl?” Bullet shouted.
“The rent,” she replied.
“I’m trying to have a good time. Get in.”
“How do I know you ain’t no cop, or a pimp?” she asked.
“Get in the car,” a voice said from behind the prostitute. She wheeled around and found herself staring down the barrel of Eve’s berretta. She thought about trying to run, but she doubted she could top the bullet’s speed. Eve directed her into the backseat while she climbed in beside Bullet.
The trio rode in silence as Bullet bent the corner. The prostitute looked from the scar-faced driver to the female with the pistol and wondered if she was going to die. She had heard horror stories about prostitutes encountering demented tricks, but until then she hadn’t had the misfortune. She could try and fight, but that would most likely lead to an ass-whipping or a bullet in the ass. Her abductors didn’t seem to be crazy, so she tried to reason her way out of it.
“Listen, the jewelry is fake, but y’all can have everything I made for the night,” she pleaded.
“Bitch, we ain’t after no paper,” Bullet snapped.
“Chill,” Eve touched his arm. “Baby girl, ain’t nobody gonna hurt you. All we need is some information,” she assured her.
“I don’t see how I can help you. I don’t know nothing about nothing,” the prostitute said.
“A girl was murdered up here a few nights ago,” Eve said, looking out the window.
“I don’t know nothing about no murder,” the prostitute said nervously.
“Listen to me.” Eve turned to face the prostitute. “The girl was a friend of mine. You ever lose a friend? Her name was Cassidy. She was eighteen years old, probably not much younger than you. She was beaten to death and thrown on the street. The police don’t care about a Black girl getting murdered, but I do. I need to find out who was responsible,” Eve tried to keep her game face, but she couldn’t hide the emotion in her voice.
The prostitute examined Eve to see if she was trying to run game. She knew that there was something funny about the murder and it could be dangerous to speak of it, but there was something about the girl that touched her. She looked at Eve and could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” the prostitute whispered. “Nobody should be done that way. I don’t know who killed her or why, but I did see the men who dumped her body.” The prostitute went on to recount the events of that tragic night.
She and another girl were working the block when a black truck rolled in with its lights off. The girl ran, but she took cover behind a Dumpster, fearing that they were stickup kids. A big dude, as she described him, got out of the truck with a white guy and pulled a rolled-up carpet from the trunk. The prostitute knew they were up to something, so she watched from her hiding place.
She knew there was something wrapped in the carpet because it took two of them to carry it. They dumped whatever they were carrying and took off in the truck. Curiosity led the prostitute to investigate the scene, but when she came upon it she wished that she hadn’t. The men had dumped a the body of a young girl.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” Eve asked, sobbing.
“I don’t know!” The prostitute cried. “I was scared. I just ran as fast as I could. When I came out the next night, I heard the body had been found.”
“The men who dumped her, what did they look like?” Bullet asked.
“One was a big Black dude,” she recalled. “Looked like he could’ve been a football player.”
“One guess who that was,” Eve said.
“Steve,” Bullet grumbled.
“What about the other guy?” Eve asked.
“He was a thin white guy,” the prostitute answered.
“Think it was Carlo?” Eve asked Bullet.
“Doubt it.” He rubbed his chin. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to get that close to a murder scene. He has people like that fuck Steve to do his dirty work for him.”
“Can I go now?” asked the prostitute.
“Yeah,” Eve said, handing her a fifty-dollar bill. “Thanks for your help.”
Bullet pulled the car over and popped the locks. The prostitute slid from the car and started up the block. She paused and came around to the passenger’s side window. “Listen,” she said to Eve, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened. I hope y’all catch the black-hearted bastards that did this before the police do.” The prostitute gave Eve a weak smile and disappeared into the night.
“Muthafuckas!” Eve punched the dashboard.
“Easy, Eve.” Bullet patted her arm. “They’re gonna get what’s coming to them.”
“Damn right they will. I’m gonna make sure of it.”
“Sounds like you’re thinking about going against the mob?” Bullet joked. He looked over at Eve and saw that she wasn’t smiling. “Eve, I know you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“She was like my sister,” Eve said clutching the gun. “Steve and whoever else had a hand in it are gonna pay!”
29.
Felon eased down the hall clutching his Glock. With his back to the wall, he eased his way to the front door. He didn’t allow people to pop up at his house unannounced, but someone was knocking at his door. Raising the gun to chest level against the door, Felon looked through the peephole. Seeing a friendly face, he uncocked his gun and opened the door.
“Hi,” Eve said, standing in the doorway. “You gonna invite me in, or just stare at me?”
“Ah, come in.” Felon stepped back and allowed Eve into the apartment. Eve was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and Air Max. Her hair was brushed back into a ponytail, showing off her pretty face. She looked better than she had in the last few days, but Felon could tell she was still grieving.
“You want something to drink?” he asked.
“I’m cool,” she said, sitting on the couch. “I kinda need to talk to you.”
“I kinda need to talk to you too. Listen, the other day—”
“What’s done is done,” she cut him off. “That’s not what I came to talk to you about, though. I’ve got some new information about Cassidy’s murder.”
“Eve, you still on that? You’re gonna worry yourself sick.”
“I can’t just let it go, Felon. She was my friend. Your fucking partners killed her and I can’t let that ride,” she said heatedly.
“Hold on, what are you talking about?”
“I spoke to a hooker up on the Point and she saw Big Steve dump Cassidy’s body.”
“Wait, wait. Eve, this is crazy. You come in here telling me that Steve killed Cassidy, on the word of some prostitute?”
“She saw him, Felon. Steve and a white guy dumped Cassidy’s body. She couldn’t identify that bastard Carlo, but I’m sure he’s involved too. I’m going after them,” she stated.
“Evelyn Panelli, have you lost your mind? You can’t go at the mob because some hooker says she thinks she saw something. These people are killers, baby.”
“I think they’ve proven that already.” She folded her arms. “But they’ve fucked with the wrong person. I’m going after them.”
“Eve, we’re all upset about what happened to Cassidy, but you can’t just go pointing fingers at people. Especially Carlo De Nardi.”
“Why the
hell not? She was one of us. Twenty-Gang since grade school! Instead of sitting here trying to talk me out of it, you should be helping me figure out a way to get at these niggaz.”
“Eve,” he said, sitting beside her, “what you’re talking about is suicide. Baby, think about this.”
“I don’t believe this shit,” she said, glaring icily at Felon. “How are you gonna side with them?”
“I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just not in a rush to throw my life away.”
“Fuck this shit,” she said, heading for the door. “Carlo might have your heart, but he don’t put no fear in me.”
“Eve, where are you going?” he called after her.
“I gotta go.”
“Hold on, let me talk to you.” Felon reached for her, but she pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I have to do this. Goodbye, Felon.” Without giving him a second look, Evelyn Panelli walked out of Felon’s apartment and his life.
Eve took hurried steps down the block, wrapped up in her own thoughts. The meeting with Felon hadn’t gone quite as she had expected it to. Of all the people in the world she thought she could turn to about this, it was Felon. They all came up together, so it was only right that they ride on Cassidy’s killer. When he shut her down, it hurt, but it didn’t deter her.
After the prostitute told Eve what she had seen, she immediately started spinning a plan. Felon was to play an intricate part in her revenge scheme, but since he wasn’t with it, she’d have to improvise. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Sheeka. After the third ring she picked up. Eve made arrangements to meet up with Sheeka. She placed a call to Kiki.
“What’s going on?” Eve asked.
“Ain’t shit.” She yawned. “Still on that thing.”
“Good. Anything yet?”
“You know I got you, Eve. When he’s not guarding his boss, he’s an errand boy. Carlo keeps him pretty busy. Doesn’t seem to enjoy his job much either.”
“That helps, but I need something I can use.”
“Well, here’s something that I thought you might be interested in,” Kiki began. “They must got some freaky shit going on up in that apartment. Just about every other night Carlo and Steve go out and pick up girls. I figured them to be prostitutes, cause neither one of them seem like they got much G.”
“So, he’s a freak. That still doesn’t help me,” Eve said, beginning to get irritated.
“Nah, Eve. That ain’t the weird thing about it. All they fuck wit is young Black and Spanish pussy. Bout the same age as us. Sometimes Steve just leaves Carlo up there. I never get close enough to see em real good, but they all walk outta there like they got the devil on they heels.”
“A’ight, Kiki. Stay on em for a minute. I’m trying to piece something together. Good looking, Twenty.”
“All day, my sis.” Kiki ended the call.
Eve paused and let the clues roll around in her mind. Could Steve and Carlo be into some kind of crazed sex act with the girls? She could picture them making them perform tricks while they pissed on them. Just thinking of what they might’ve done to Cassidy before they killed her almost made her buckle. This only added urgency to the plot.
Uncle Bobby was sitting at his post in front of the television when he heard Eve come into the apartment. She gave him a nod, but was silent as the grave. They hadn’t done much talking since Cassidy was killed. His niece was going through a terrible time, and as was their way, she held it inside. Bobby decided to break the silence.
“Hey, Eve.” He smiled.
“Sup, Uncle Bobby?”
“Ain’t seen too much of you in a while, let alone held a conversation. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, just trying to keep busy,” she lied.
“Right. So, how you feeling, baby?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Very,” she replied.
“You know.” He wheeled over to where she was standing. “We ain’t really spoke about what happened. Sometimes talking helps.”
“Uncle Bobby, I’m straight,” she said, heading toward her bedroom.
“Eve, if you need me I’m here. You know that, right?”
Eve looked over her shoulder and gave him a faint smile, then disappeared down the hall.
Felon leaned against the back of Carlo’s Range Rover, steaming a blunt of haze. Steve sat behind the wheel talking to Sal, who sat in the passenger’s seat. Carlo had left word that he was taking care of something and he would be down in a few. A million scenarios played in his mind as he waited for his partner.
Carlo came walking out of the building with a caramel thing on his arm. She was cheesing as Carlo whispered something lame in her ear. When he noticed the doorman watching, he palmed her ass through the short-shorts. Felon waited patiently while Carlo slipped her some bills and sent her on her way.
“What it is, my man?” Carlo smiled and extended his hand.
“Smooth as silk,” Felon said, giving him a light shake. Felon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out three thick envelopes. He held them up for Carlo to inspect, then tossed them in the car to Steve.
Carlo rubbed his hands together greedily. “Always on time, buddy.”
“Streets are starting to open back up, so I got a little more mobility.”
“Good, good. Say, where’s your pal these days?” Carlo asked.
“Had to go out of town to see some sick relatives,” Felon said. The lie was a weak one, so he was sure that Carlo had peeped it.
“Convenient.”
“Say what?”
“I said, convenient. It’s convenient that your right-hand man ends up having to leave town in light of a cop getting murdered in one of your hoods.”
“Don’t start this shit, Carlo,” Felon said, his tone threatening.
“Hey.” Carlo threw his hands up. “I gotta ask. You got a name for me then?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“You ain’t working too hard, chief.” Carlo put his hand on Felon’s shoulder. “Felon, you and me ain’t never had a misunderstanding. It’s your friend that’s bringing the headaches. I got love for him, because you’re a friend of mine, but he ain’t a friend of ours.”
“Carlo, your people are gonna get their killer. Just hold your head and let me see what I can do.”
“Clock is ticking,” Carlo said, walking around him to get in the back of the truck. “Say, there’s gonna be a little get-together down at this spot in the Village Saturday night. Why don’t you come through? I can finally introduce you to the old man.”
“A’ight.” Felon nodded. “I’ll stop through.” Felon made his farewells and took two steps back. He waited until the truck had pulled off before walking up the block to his Windstar. He still didn’t know what side of the fence Carlo had tossed him to amongst the old heads in the family.
The whole time he was talking to Carlo, he was thinking of Cassidy and wondering if he was really that foul. Felon pushed the thought from his head and focused on paper.
Eve leaned against a lamp post, waiting for Sheeka. She had traded her fitted jeans and sneakers for black army fatigues and Timberlands. A cool breeze rode in as the temperature began to drop. She shifted the weight of the knapsack she was carrying, tugging her collar up so she could light her cigarette.
Sheeka finally came stolling down the block, dressed in sweat pants and a leather jacket. A loose strand of hair fell from beneath her fitted hat and tickled her eyelashes. Much like Eve, she sported bags under her eyes from the many sleepless nights.
“Sup, sis,” Eve said, hugging Sheeka.
“What up, Eve?” Sheeka said, hugging her back. “What you doing out here dressed like a damn combat soldier?”
“Come on, Sheeka. You know how I do it. But look, I didn’t call you out here to discuss fashion. I got something.”
“You heard something about Cassidy’s murder?” Sheeka asked excitedly.
“Yeah, I spok
e to a girl up there. I’ll spare you the details, but I got a lead I’m running with,” Eve told her.
“I’m wit you!” Sheeka slapped her fist against her palm.
Eve shushed her. “Chill. It ain’t even going down like that. You’re gonna get yours in, but I need you to make the plan go.”
“You ain’t even gotta ask me twice,” Sheeka said.
“A’ight, it’s kinda complicated, so pay attention.”
Butter cruised up Madison Avenue in his rented Chrysler. He had a blunt hanging out of his mouth and a compact Uzi on the passenger’s seat. When he got the word that the streets were beginning to cool off, he had decided to stretch his legs. Felon had warned him to stay low, but Butter couldn’t stay away. Harlem was his home and he needed to be with his peoples. He felt like a caged rat sitting up in the Bronx. All he did was smoke weed and watch videos. He need to get out of his rut.
His first stop was to the barber shop. It had been a while so his hair was starting to look crazy. A few cats from the block recognized him and showed love when he entered. They all wanted to know where he had been, and Butter hit them with a story about a spot out of town. He didn’t know who knew what about the murder, and he wasn’t stupid enough to put himself out there.
After leaving the shop, Butter decided to take a slow ride through Harlem. It felt good to be back in his element. He almost couldn’t believe that he had been so easily forced to leave. He knew the Italians wanted to question him and the police wanted to fry him. He took in the sights, but he wasn’t stupid enough to linger.
Butter made a loop of the hood before he made headed back to the Bronx. He spotted Teddy holding the corner down and hit him with the horn. Teddy squinted to see who was in the car, but Butter was moving too fast. Butter headed for the highway and his project retreat. He was feeling so good about getting out that he never noticed the tan bucket that merged into the lane behind him.
